Playing with fire - Of loss and grief
by Aiwyn
Summary: Aiwyn has many stories to tell. From the fall of Quel'thalas to the rise of the Iron Horde, she witnessed more than she would have ever hoped. This is only the start. WARNING: This is a troll-free story. If you're a troll, you'll be promptly ignored.
1. Prologue

The moonlight has the curious power of shedding mystery and romance over everything it touches, making the scene of the most brutal crime look innocent and peaceful. Now, it was capable of making the nest of lust and perversion look dreamy and ethereal, even though the air was still vibrating with sighs filled with lust.

The room was silent now, the hour of the wolf. The night breeze played with the sheer drapes, but there were no candles to dance since the light of the full moon was enough for the man and the woman. For now, even the restless books filled with arcane power were quiet; even the artifacts resting on the shelves, that usually seemed alive as entities, were sleeping now.

The man ran his hand up her body, savoring the touch. Her skin was silky, soft enough to make his hands seem even rougher. Warm as if she was bathed by the sun. Flawless and untainted. Delicate and fragile.

Her chest moved up and down below his hand, and for a moment he felt her heart, barely contained by her smooth skin. It ran wild, fast, even though her breath was starting to calm down. He found her slim neck. She let out the sweetest of sighs when he closed his hand around it. Her heart was beating faster, her life running through her veins - and he could feel it, right there, in his hand, pulsating like liquid fire. It felt like he was holding her life in his hand, just the smallest squeeze was enough...

"You like that, don't you?" he said, in that silky voice. "Aren't you afraid?"

She stared at him. Her eyes still shinning, her cheeks still blushed, pleasure still running fresh in her veins. Their silhouettes were only partially revealed by the soft moonlight coming from the balcony, and as most things revealed by moonlight, it seemed more romantic than it actually was. As innocent as two lovers after their embrace.

They were as different as the moon and sun. She was a delicate elf, her long white hair spreading all over the round bed and reflecting the moonlight. Her curves were perfectly smooth and her skin pale and pinkish as if she has never seen the sunlight. The man, on the other hand, looked like a sailor. Tanned skin, defined muscles and messy curls of hair as black as a raven. Rough hands - she liked those rough hands. He looked like a human, but his blazing eyes were an indication of his true self, an indication that there was indeed something that made them look alike.

They were both creatures made of fire, with blazing eyes and fiery hearts.

He took a sniff of her; ran his nose along the warm flesh that shaped those voluptuous curves, inhaled her scent and thought the pleasure running in her blood was pouring out through her pores. It was the scent of lust, pure and maddening. Every inch of her was made to drive men mad with lust.

"Afraid?" she said, and a smile curved her lips. "Not of you..."

Oddly enough, he didn't feel insulted. Not now. He opened the belt that kept her hands in place and rubbed lightly the marks on her wrists, tainting her flawless skin.

"Besides...," she continued, touching lightly on his neck with the tip of her fingers. As she did it, a thin line of arcane runes shone softly, circling his neck like a leash. "I guess I can handle you."

His laugh was powerful and for a moment disturbed that seductive tranquility that was trying to occupy the room, filling every inch of it and overflowing, spilling out of the balcony.

"In more than one way, yes," he said, as he messed even more his black curls of hair with a distracted hand. His hair was wild and he made no attempt of taming it. "But how long?"

"If you think you can fuck your way out of this, you're wrong," she said softly, although avoiding the question. "I'd advise you stop trying to manipulate me with your cock and getting used to your new necklace."

"I guessed it wouldn't hurt to try," he said with a delighted smile curving his lips. "I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I like a challenge. And you... You like this."

He smiled with all his teeth, and it looked like the grin of a predator before his prey. He knew she liked it, the feeling of danger, of being by the edge of a cliff. The feeling of his rough and heavy touch. It was exciting, alluring.

"Curious, isn't it?" he said, rubbing her wrist again and examining it. "You're the one that bears the marks of dominance," he continued, laying a long kiss on the reddish mark on her wrist. His kiss was softer than she expected, though. Tender, even. "Yet it is me that's the tamed beast. Not that I'm complaining. It almost feels like..."

"...feels like your power is yours again?" she completed with a grin.

There was a moment of silence, where they both stared at one another, without blinking, his malicious grin mirrored perfectly on her own face.

"I have another theory about why you don't have a boyfriend," he said, hovering over her. "You're annoying."

"It's reasonable. But I like mine better," she started. "I don't want one. And you don't need to pretend you don't hate me, just..."

"I don't hate you," he interrupted her. "You outsmarted me. I admire you," he answered. "But back to what's important: Why?"

He let out a surprised grunt as she pulled him down and twisted her body beneath his, like a snake. She sat on his waist and looked down on him, at least twice her size; the strength contained in his powerful muscles restrained with her delicate touch. Pleasure chills ran through his body, binding him to her will like no chains ever could, holding him in place.

"I don't need a lover," she said, as she ran her soft and small hands up his chest. "I have a son, to continue my bloodline. An apprentice, to inherit my knowledge. A trade, for my most mundane needs. And, once in a while, I may have a man to warm my bed, as I please. Sounds enough to me."

"And what about love?" he asked. "You, mortals, are the ones that keep reciting its wonders. It's so curious you left that out of the list. I don't believe you're one of those heartless ladies incapable of loving."

"I'm not," she answered, as she felt every detail of his rough muscles beneath her hands. "I just... had enough of it."

"Care to explain?"

She kept silent for a moment, thinking of the right words for it. The air of the room was still vibrating with lust, and so it was hard to think properly. It was still fresh, their bodies barely given the time to cool down.

"I had quite a few lovers," she said, and then sighed as she saw his condemning stare. "Fine, I had quite a lot of lovers. And I mean lovers, boyfriends, not..."

"...men to warm your bed, only?" he suggested.

"Right," she continued. "And it doesn't matter if you have just a couple of lovers or a thousand. You will never get... desensitized, if you know what I mean. I loved as if it was the first time. I loved as if it was the last, as if there was no tomorrow. And it hurt as if I was an innocent maiden, as if I never saw deception before. And a small piece of me died every time my love died. And I mourned it as I should. Every. Single. Time." She sighed, seeming tired. "It's... just too much. I loved enough for a lifetime. I found lovers of my previous lives and lives to come. I guess that's enough."

"You can't avoid it, though. You know that, right?" he asked, but as she didn't answer he continued. "But there must be one, you know? The one that keeps haunting your dreams, feeding your perversions. The one that first comes to mind when you think of your lovers."

"My fiancé," she said, as the most unsuitable sweet smile crossed her face. "All poetry in the world is not enough, you know? We drank on each other's souls; we feasted on each other's flesh. He was... I pictured myself growing old by his side. I thought I was going to follow him to the grave."

"Unlucky for him. Lucky for me," he said with a grin and the slightest hint of sarcasm. "What happened?"

She sighed. She didn't want revisit that part of her story. It was dead and buried. It was painful, not just because of what happened to her lover, but to her people. On the other hand, she always thought that talking about it would eventually make it less painful - and she was right, at some level. The elf sighed.

"Fine. I'll tell you."


	2. Chapter One: Denial

The Sunwell enlightened our lives and shed its glory upon us, back in the years. It is hard for an outsider to understand its importance for us. It was as essential as the air we breathed, as intoxicating and soothing as Golden Sansam's smoke. For us, drinking on its magic was like drinking water for survival; we downed it as a man in the desert downed water, welcoming an oasis as his last salvation. Every time we would step away from our lands and the Sunwell, darkness would consume our hearts; at least until we returned and paid a visit to the blessed Light, even before we found ourselves a place to rest after a month's long journey. If we stood too much time away, it felt as if we were slowly drowning - and returning to it felt the same a drowning man feels taking the first gulps of fresh air after escaping Death's grip. We worshipped the sacred Sunwell; we were more eager to pay tribute to it than to our beloved dead. The Sunwell was central and vital to our existence - our kingdom was built under its Light, our people raised with its glory. We loved it, with every fiber of our being. We protected it with our lives.

It was in this glorious past, by the Light of the Sunwell, that I met my fiancé. He chose a darker path, filled with demons and curses, but he fed on the Light and loved it almost as much as I did. He was charming and alluring, well versed in coaxing sighs of delight from my lips, and for a moment in my life, I felt I was whole. I thrived in the arcane arts and found a new passion in pyromancy along with my grim Master, my beloved proposed to me and my poor father couldn't even start to guess the mistakes I was hiding from him. The kingdom of Quel'thalas was blooming, and so was I.

And then our world was shattered. The undead tore through our land, raided us, broke us. They left scars on the land, but the most painful of all were the scars they left in our hearts. The destruction of the Sunwell left a hole in my heart, and I almost died because of it. I should have learned, back then, that such dependence on something that could be taken from us could only bring us suffering. Some of us were so addicted to the Light of the Sunwell that they fell with it, and like them, I almost did as well.

I almost lost my fiancé on the siege laid to our capital, but for quite a while I thought my dear father was gone, and so my mourning was deeper. That, on the other hand, is another story.

Luckily, my dearest love was alive - heartbroken and weak, but alive. Our love was strong, and it helped us survive when our souls were weak and withdrawal consumed our minds. I guess I would have gone mad if it wasn't for him. We supported each other, but it wasn't enough for long. We turned to our Prince, seeking help and hope. And curious enough, in the oddest of places, he promised us there was hope - that there was a way back to restoring our glorious kingdom to what it was. And so we were summoned - and joined him to Outlands.

That also proved to be a mistake, but it took a while for me to realize. I had everything I needed at the moment. Fel magic was sweet and numbing, and I was intoxicated. My studies were encouraged, and I had a bunch of brilliant minds by my side - it was stimulating. I had a focus, I was part of something big and important, and we were given a purpose, a horizon. We would save our people. Aside from that... Even my most dark and secret urges were encouraged and fed.

* * *

_"__I'm sure you and your fiancé had a lot of fun," the man interrupted her narrative. "But I guess you're not referring to that, right?"_

_He showed her that smile again, almost as malicious as his eyes._

_"__I've seen it, the way you look at the flames," he whispered in her ear. "Sometimes seems like you're hypnotized by them. It's the one of your vices you couldn't get rid of, right? It almost... Seems like lust."_

_The elf always thought people didn't notice it, but he saw through her._

_"__Sometimes, I... was summoned. To help people talk, you know?" she said, and even though she didn't have the same malicious smile curving her lips, her eyes were shinning. "Mostly resilient ones. Pyromancy is destructive by nature, but there I learned it could be used, not only to destroy objects and bodies, but also minds and spirits."_

_"__I know. Better than you, actually," the man said, grinning. "What made you realize it was a mistake, then? Life seemed good for you, I must say."_

_Aiwyn thought for a moment._

_"__It's hard to explain," she said after a while._

_"__Well... just try," he said, turning to her, and when she looked at him she found the words._

* * *

I felt there was a leash around my neck. We were contributing, doing the Prince's will, so we were rewarded. Like the way you train a dog, you know? It got to a point where our addiction seemed like... a trap, seemed like chains. We were prisoners of our own addiction, and I started to hate it... At least until nightfall and we went back to our chambers to feast on fel magic. But this feeling grew stronger and a seed of doubt was born. And my Master helped it grow stronger.

He never really seemed to like the idea on following Kael'thas' path. We usually communicated through an enchanted mirror placed in my chambers, and I saw that restlessness grow, day by day. Every time we talked and I told him about my personal achievements, or the achievements of Kael'thas elves, I saw a new wrinkle of concern in his forehead. I guess I thought he was worried about my personal safety, or that it was just his way, you know? The sort of thing you tell yourself when, actually, you don't want to acknowledge the truth. I never had the gift for reading people, but that was my Master - I knew him, I walked by his side, I trailed his path and drank on his wisdom. It was starting to get hard not to notice it when not even the faintest sign of appreciation was shown. The most impressive deeds only made his grimace deepen. "We took Tempest Keep, Master! Isn't it wonderful?" I told him once. Without the slightest change in his expression, he just told me "Good. Just be careful". He didn't like the turn of events, but didn't say a thing against it for a good period of time.

But one day, he just spat it all out.

I was coming back to my chambers at nightfall, tired and restless. My studies were exciting, but I had also been helping the botanists with the native plants that day. I hadn't... tapped anything the night before, and it was starting to make me irritated, but even so, my heart rejoiced when I realized my Master was trying to communicate with me. We were keeping these meetings a secret, as he requested, and so I approached a seemingly empty wall and murmured the spell that would reveal the mirror hanging there. It was emitting a soft glow, and as I murmured one more spell, the image of the room reflected on the mirror rippled, and another took its place.

My Master has an almost permanent grim expression, and he was quite old. And rather well preserved for a dead man, too. He didn't talk much about it, but when death came for him, he simply decided he wasn't ready to leave this world. He simply decided to cheat death. For that, he got undeath. The details are a bit cloudy and he gets unbearable when I insist, so that's all I know.

"What took you so long?" He started right away, in that raspy voice in which I found some comfort. "Brushing your hair? You should cut it. It's easier."

He could sound rude for someone who didn't know him, mocking my daily ritual of hair brushing just like that. But for me, it was comforting to talk to him again, and he was actually more caring than he let others realize.

"I love you too, Master." I answered. "I was helping the botanists - that's why I just got here. How are you feeling today?"

"Old. What else?" He replied. "I wish you would do your chores willingly when you're with me. How are you doing?"

Of course, when you make that question to a woman, chances are you won't get a short reply. But patience was a virtue among several my Master had, and he listened patiently as I told him about my day, with details above and beyond the purely necessary. He seemed interested, and it wasn't that faint and fake interest men show just to show they care. He seemed truly interested to know of everything that was happening at Tempest Keep, and so he listened without interrupting me once. When I was finished, he asked:

"And how's Neph doing?"

And as always happened when I talked about Neph - or thought of him, or saw him, or met him - I felt renewed enthusiasm grow inside me. Neph was doing great. He, too, seemed very happy there, thriving at his own field of expertise. He wasn't a mage, but his success was being equally rewarded. I couldn't see it at that time, but now I see it. Neph was so buried in the addiction and in the dark path he chose that my illusion that he could be saved was childish. But my Master saw it, and he wasn't even there.

"...and I realized the reason they don't want to work with this plant, the Flame Cap, is because they don't know how to keep its properties stable," I kept my monologue flowing like wine flows at a good party. "But I devised a plan and I guess it can work. I've worked with a desert herb very similar to that, but if I adapt my strategy, I may be able to devise a potion that can enhance fire spells!" I said, finishing my speech with my victorious conclusion.

But my Master just kept getting more and more grim. He was a rather stern man, but even so it wasn't normal for him to look so... unsatisfied? No, he was... disappointed.

"Master?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

Then I saw that look on his face. He was hesitating in telling me something. It was a rare thing for him, mostly just too blunt and honest to do such a thing. Usually, he didn't mind saying the most terrible things if he believed it to be true and of use for him. I remember when I saw that look on his face before, and it was when I told him I was going to join Kael'thas at Outlands.

"When was the last time you tapped anything?" He asked.

"I... I guess last night... But why...?" I replied, confused.

"Your hands are shaking."

I'd been hoping he wouldn't notice it. My gestures were starting to get a bit more nervous and my hands were definitely shaking. It was withdrawal, I knew it. What I didn't know was how deep I was into the addiction.

"I... It must be because I had nothing to eat in..." I started to mumble.

"You moron."

I stared at my Master, as if I never saw him before. It was normal for him to call me moron, but that day something inside of me snapped. He made me feel like a scolded child, and I couldn't take it anymore. How dare he? I was the moron - me?! I was part of something important, of something that could save our people! I wasn't just a stupid apprentice, eager for his acceptance and love. That moment I felt as something was awakening inside of me - some sort of monster, like a venomous snake that has been distilling its poison. It felt as if a cold snake was rolling around my stomach and its poison was ready to crawl up my throat and hit my Master, shaping words of pure hatred and contempt. But my Master was faster than my hateful thoughts.

"You are weak." He said, and I got so surprised by that, that for a moment I had no idea of how to answer him. I had never felt better. What was he talking about? "Your Flame is burning low."

For a moment I forgot that monster in my stomach, trying to get out to hurt my Master. His words might seem born out of contempt, but he was using the same poised and serene tone he always did. He was not just trying to hurt me for nothing. I looked away for a moment, trying to find anything to answer. He often referred to as "Flame" as one's spirit and will power, strength of mind. Mages willing to walk down the path of the flames must have a strong will, so that they won't destroy themselves. And he said my Flame was burning low? In the depths of my mind, in the back of my head, a voice was trying to be heard; it was screaming a warning: "He is right! Listen to your Master!" Deep down I knew it. Deep down I had already started to doubt if my will was mine and that everything I did was done so that, in the end of the day, I would have fel magic to feast on and my lover to join me. Deep down I was starting to feel like a prisoner of my addiction.

"No!" Said that vicious snake awakened within me, prowling in the shadows. "That's not true! You're not a prisoner! You can stop whenever you want... You don't have to give up such power..." Even though a part of me knew that I should have learned the lesson back at the fall of our kingdom, I didn't want to believe it. This would never happen to me. And the voice of that thing was so silky, so full of promises...

This time my Master looked away, as if searching for the words to use. I remained silent, for I knew he was going to speak his mind and tell me the truth. That's what I needed at that moment, when I felt so divided and confused. Truth. But the truth was not what I wanted it to be.

Finally, he spoke.

"A strong leader is like a well of power and strength," he said. The way he said "well" was certainly calculated to send a pang of longing and pain for the loss of the Sunwell ripping through my heart, and so it did. "Its followers drink from his power, feed on his strength."

"Kael'thas has given us power! Power we could have never dreamed of!," I burst out, embarrassed by the hint of hysteria in my voice. I knew he was about to tell me something I already knew, deep down. The seeds of doubt were already there - he was feeding them, and I was starting to get nervous.

"This is nothing but a lure. He is the light, and you all are the moths," he answered, patiently. "The addiction keeps you under control. It keeps you there, in his hands. This so called power is not truly yours, because your will is not. He can take it anytime he wants. He can use you. He is using you."

I had no answer. No words. Not even anger. Denial was upon me, and some part of me still resisted on taking his words as truth, pathetically staring at his image in the mirror. Looking back at it, I realize that I hadn't lost all of my Flame just yet - it survived enough so I could question myself and my actions, and for that I am fortunate and proud. If it wasn't for that, my Master's words would fall on deaf ears. But at that moment I didn't see all of that. I was just there, staring at him, shocked, but he didn't seem quite finished with me.

"Only weak leaders need that sort of devotion. Only weak leaders need lambs."

That was enough to me.

"I'm not a lamb!" I realized I was almost yelling, so I tried to calm down, but my hands were shaking more than ever. I felt that cold snake in my stomach again, feeling the air, waiting for its way out.

"If you don't believe me, try to stop," he challenged me.

I couldn't help but think. "No, I'm not a docile lamb, just following the shepherd. I'm a prisoner. A prisoner of the addiction. And Kael'thas is feeding this addiction to keep us under control. Under his control. It seems like... a golden cage. It is comfortable, but it is a cage, nonetheless."

Now I know that Kael'thas was as much a victim as we were. I know that he was being manipulated the same way he was manipulating us. Still no one but him could be blamed by all that he had done - the same way no one could be blamed, but us, for following him eagerly, without questioning. I should have noticed it before, I should have seen there was something wrong. I should have questioned such blind devotion... It was comfortable. We left the burden of thinking for someone else and, little by little, slowly, we were forgetting who we were. We were fading into blind devotion. We were fading into the addiction. We were weak.

"Aiwyn..."

My Master was calling me again, and I realized he was watching me closely. I bet he could almost see the gears turning inside my head, and seemed satisfied with it - relieved, even, to see his words wouldn't go unheard. But over and above that, he seemed worried. If it were anyone else, I'd have said "afraid".

"You have the most beautiful Flame I have ever seen," he said, surprising me, and again I had no idea how to answer. "Don't let them take it from you."

"Good night, Master," I said, putting an end to the spell that made it possible for us to talk.

My head and my heart were torn and confused. I had no idea of what to do about it. I needed time for my mind to apprehend what my Master told me.

That night, I tapped on fel magic again and made love to Neph as if it was the last time. That cold and venomous monster inside of me seemed to calm down and even disappear. Usually, at a moment like that, my doubts would vanish like mist vanishes with the sunrise. But not that time.

I tried to do what my Master challenged me to: I tried to stop. I would prove him wrong and my doubts would vanish, washed away by waves like footsteps on the beach sand. I would show him the truth.

Withdrawal is cruel, and in our own dominions the sources of arcane power were so abundant it was truly hard to resist. Mana crystals, filled with arcane power for us to feast upon, were extremely common in Tempest Keep. Silver threads of paranoia seized my mind and started to wind through it, weaving the seductive whispers bound to lure me, only so I could start to fear what was beyond every corner or just passed that corridor. Instead of being a sanctuary, Tempest Keep started to feel like the lair of a faceless monster, a silent hunter who has woven traps and temptations in every corner. And even when I went to the safest of hiding places, the temptations sought me out.

The "safest of hiding places" to me meant the library, and there's where I could be found one afternoon after I talked to my Master. It was perfect in there, where no one would notice my shaking hands and the blissful silence was gentle to my head. I felt like my brain was swollen, trying to crack my skull open, and even the sound of a creaking door made me feel someone was sticking needles into my brain. I found myself a corner where the daylight wouldn't reach me and buried my face in a book, wishing time could pass faster.

In that sanctuary, where I thought I'd find peace, Nalysa shattered my peace as she approached, hopping happily. That day her voice seemed higher pitched and her happiness, annoying and torturing for my shaken mind. Nalysa is one of my oldest friends, and I'd known her since we were kids. Not always did our paths coincide, but whenever we saw each other again, it's like we'd never been separated. She's got this gift - or curse - of looking happy all the time, and that could even be contagious. But I cursed her happiness as she took a seat by my side.

"Look! My new robe is done! What do you think?" she asked me. We've reached a point in our relationship where greetings seemed useless.

"It's nice, it's... purple. It'll match your... well, everything," I answered. "Everything you own is purple."

As she sat, she took some parchment paper and started to write. Usually, when people want to keep a conversation a secret, they talk in whispers. Nalysa and me wrote it down and burned the paper afterwards. Not that our secrets were dangerous...

"So, how's Ala'Nyr? Is she still recovering?" she asked as she passed me a note where I could read "My project was accepted, and Falthan's wasn't".

Recalling Ala'Nyr put a fool's smile on my lips. She is a phoenix that, more or less, I inherited from my mother. For the last couple weeks she's been recovering from an attack she suffered while trying to defend me - the first days were hard, but as soon as she got out of danger, I relaxed and stopped annoying the elf who was taking care of her. She has bright golden feathers that sometimes seems to be glowing, capturing the slightest beam of light and returning it ten times stronger; but what I love most about her are her blazing red eyes, fierce and strong. She is a piece of home. From the moment I took my first flight, I knew I would be the best flier, and Ala'Nyr made it possible. She was not only my mount or my pet - she was like a sister to me, my best friend; and flying on her back, letting her wings take me anywhere could heal any sickness of the heart or mind. The wind would eventually blow away any thoughts and bring me peace, with a couple of flaps of Ala'Nyr's wings.

"Yes, but they say she'll soon be able to fly again," I said, getting the paper and writing beneath her first line: "Seems like now he's your archenemy. Details!"

Killing Nalysa's happiness always felt to me like kicking a puppy, and so I obliged and put on a mask of cordiality for her sake. At first, this mask felt awkward and just wrong, but between lighter conversations and jokes, it gradually started to fade and stopped being an act. Even though my head still ached and I was trying to focus on the conversation at a cost, Nalysa managed to make me forget my suffering for a moment. She started to detail Falthan's mistakes and imply that his impotent behavior was surely because of a small dick.

"...and he goes like 'Behold! This is MY awesome idea. So now just stand back in awe' as if we don't remember it is one of Il'than's abandoned projects," she wrote.

"Didn't Il'than abandon the research because he thought it wasn't worth his time? Falthan sure does talk a lot, but I've heard other stories about his... performance," I wrote back, as time seemed to run faster to the other side of the hourglass. Nalysa seemed delighted.

"What did you hear? Tell me!" she quickly wrote the reply.

My focus diverged from my pain as I put one word in front of the other, but not for long. I couldn't fool anyone for so long.

"Are you okay?" she asked out loud at one point, when I was writing.

"Why do you ask?"

"Your hands are shaking."

My hands were betraying me again, no matter how much I tried to conceal it. But I felt I couldn't tell Nalysa of my doubts. Such serious conversation didn't have a place among silly remarks about men's cocks and butts. And I always felt protective over Nalysa, the same way the older sister feels over her siblings. She should be spared of my doubts and weaknesses. She shouldn't know.

"I'm trying to create a potion that can soothe withdrawal's symptoms. I need to test it, but no one wants to be my test subject," I told her the first thing that came to mind. Truth be said, sometime ago I was, indeed, trying to brew a potion like that, but I was required for more important projects and had to abandon it.

"And you thought of being your own test subject? You're so brave!" she said, laughing innocently. I could be a bad liar, but her candidness made most of my lies sound plausible. "You're trying that again? Don't be silly! Here's the cure for withdrawal."

Nalysa quickly went through a small purse she had with her and put in front of me a small and brilliant mana crystal.

"This round is on me. But I have to get going. I need to prepare some specifications of my project. See ya later," she said as she prepared to go, burning the paper we've been writing on. And so, like a summer rain that comes and goes as it pleases, as sudden as it can be... she was gone.

The blessed freshness of the summer rain was short lived and the chilly fingers of autumn soon became the icy claws of winter, reaching out for something in my very core. I stared at the mana crystal she left on the table, and the promise its glittery beauty offered me casted a spell upon my willpower. The crystal was purple, the color of brute arcane power, power that seemed to be revolving in a small storm inside it; it was beautiful, seductive. Hypnotizing. I could see my own tormented face reflected in some of its many irregular facets, and felt like a trained dog trying to resist a piece of meat. Frost claws climbed up my spirit and tried to reach out for my willpower, for my Flame.

"Don't let them take it from you," he said. The crystal just stood there, gleaming innocently like a living entity, mocking my inner conflict - mocking the resistance of my Flame, a candle in a snowstorm. Again I was fully aware of the headache that surged and pounded against my eyes with renewed strength; of the twitching hand that reached out for the crystal. When I realized it was my own hand, I stopped. The soft light the crystal emanated was pulsating in the rhythm of a living heart, and my hand moved towards it once again. After a brief battle, a pathetic staccato dance between my willpower and my hunger, my shaking fingers tenderly embraced it, and the power contained by the crystal felt the accelerating cadence of my heart, joining it, beating within. I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and for a moment felt the power beneath my fingers, at my disposal, calling for me - before I buried the crystal in the depths of my pocked, drawing my hand as if scorched.

I would not give up, not now.

But even though I resisted that moment, I failed later on. I was starting to get irritable and unbearable to all those around me. I told myself I did for their sake, but I was just fooling myself. All my body started to ache, and as Nalysa stated, the cure was just at my reach. I failed and tasted once again the sweet and numbing power of fel magic when Neph came looking for me in another place I deemed safe: the laboratory.

My unstable mood managed to scare off those few elves that enjoyed working late at night at the alchemy laboratory - I suspect they found it wouldn't be wise to stay close to me when I was surrounded by fragile flasks filled with substances as unstable as myself. So I found myself alone, and except for the bubbling of some potions sitting eternally on braziers, there was sweet, oh so sweet silence. Surrounded by books, flasks, pots, plants and a myriad of alchemy devices, I found peace.

I was standing next to a large wooden table, writing down on my journal the progress of my studies. Before me I had oil I managed to extract from Flame's Cap, a very curious plant native of Zangarmarsh that I was quite fond of. My hands were still shaking, but for a brief and sweet moment I forgot my pain, my headache, my torment. I was focused on my research and there was no place for pain in my mind; there was no place for nothing but my studies, for the formula I was trying to find, hidden in the depths of all the knowledge I had collected so far. The challenge, the puzzle, was enough to keep my mind going on even though my body was exhausted and begged for a soft bed. My eyes jumped constantly between notes, flasks, books and my journal, as I was fully concentrated and completely immerse in a world of formulae, calcul[J1] ations[L2] and theories.

It took me a while to achieve such state of focus, and when I did, my headache seemed to be contained to a small room in the back of my mind, poking me constantly, but otherwise manageable. My twitching hands made my writing seem like a cryptic message, but it could be worse.

Then I heard the creaking of the door, and silently cursed with every curse I knew the person who just entered the laboratory, closing the door afterwards. I didn't even turn, collecting what remained of my willpower to stay silent and be polite, closing my eyes and praying for patience as I noticed once more my headache pounding behind my eyes like a hammer. Almost immediately I regretted all that cursing, since the voice that came floating to me was the only voice that could make a wave of warm relief and joy invade my heart.

"My love... What are you doing in here so late?" Neph said, as he approached to take a look at what I was doing, his silky voice claiming my focus and making my heart rate rise slightly, as always. "Let's go to bed..."

Even though I didn't turn to see him, I heard the grin in his voice. I knew him enough - he came to me filled with energy and lust and patience to torture me. He stood beside me and just shot a glance at my work, before turning my head to him, demanding my lips, giving me the lightest of pecks. He gave me just the smallest taste of his soft lips, just so I could take a sip on his love; just a quick glance at his radiant, mischievous eyes, before I could drown on his lust. Not without some difficulty, I turned my eyes back to my notes. What was I doing, again?

"Let me just finish this, then," I said, although I felt my focus was already slipping through my fingers and I started to notice how that brief taste of his affection made me yearn for more, sending a wave of pleasure down my spine.

"Do you mind if I stay here watching you?" he asked, his deep voice trying to take what remained of my concentration and take me to a place where only love could exist.

Neph loved to taunt me, provoke me - lead my desire to a place so high above it was hard to breathe, only so we could experience the sweet fall, that feeling of lightness, of blissful emptiness, where we truly lived the present. He stood behind me, putting each hand on the table, on each side of my body. I could feel his robe ruffling behind me, but he wasn't truly touching my body, and I suddenly found myself eager for his touch. I felt his burning desire radiating from him in warm waves that awakened some primal entity inside me, catching fire with his sparkle of desire.

"What are you doing, darling?" he spoke softly by my ear, his lips brushing my skin ever so lightly and sending lustful shivers down my entire body. This is one weakness all elves share: our sensitive ears. I felt his voice in my skin, heard him with my heart, and in a moment or so realized my body screamed and begged for his, without much more effort than a peck on the lips and a whisper.

"I... I'm describing the... basic properties of Flame's Cap oil," I said, after a few seconds I needed to put the words in the right order. It was hard to think right now, as my brain refused to function properly.

"And what are they?" he asked, as he ran his right hand up my spine and gently moved away my hair, leaving my skin exposed for his warm lips.

"You're not interested," I told him, as my body seemed to struggle to decide which sensations should be prioritized; I felt relaxed and tense at the same time. He started to rub his hand up my back, rubbing my ribs and sliding his thumbs along my spine. I felt my stress and tension dissolving under his skillful touch, but in spite of that my heart was still racing and my breath was rising to a quickening panting as he started to lay soft kisses on my neck. The tension abandoned my shoulders and my back to concentrate on my loins; the weight I was carrying became that torturing pain of yearning and desire.

I accepted his body with the pleasure someone would feel laying the head on a soft pillow after a hard day of work. Our bodies were tuned into each other's needs; our souls could read each other with no more than a glance. I needed him to take me to a place where my pain wouldn't find me, and it would seem he readily answered, as if my unconscious mind sent him a pitiful yelp. And he came. He always did.

Not only was Neph charming and alluring, but he knew my body better than me I did. He knew where and how; my limits, my expectations. My notes were promptly forgotten as I melted under my lover's hands and leaned back to feel his body, closing my eyes as he embraced me and kept on rubbing my ribs and kissing my shoulder. His hands were not rough - he was not a warrior, nor a sailor. He was a scholar, a warlock - his hands were crafty, sly. Patient. I let my guard down. In his arms I was safe. In his love, I was protected from the world out there.

Somewhat numbed, somehow forgetting where we were, I barely realized when his hands wandered up my chest and pulled my cleavage down. When I felt my heart pounding wildly against his hand, an involuntary sigh escaped my lips and inconvenient, hard reality suddenly slapped me in the face. We were not in our warm, comfortable chambers - we were standing at the cold and uninviting laboratory, where anyone could come and go anytime.

"N-Neph!" I gasped, looking around, as if expecting someone to enter the lab.

"You know what would make this even better?" he asked me, ignoring my hesitation as he quickly went through his pocket and slipped something to my hand.

I knew what it was even before he wrapped my fingers around it. He embraced my smaller hand with his own, pressing my palm against a mana crystal before showing it to me. This one was green, bright, filled with so corruptive and sweet fel magic.

Bewitched, the temptation of fel magic was harder to resist. We were addicts, arcane magic was our addiction, and fel magic was a purified drug, stronger, sweeter, the embodiment of our desire, of our corruptive thirst. Just a taste of it could bring euphoria to our hearts and sooth the pain of our minds. Temptation crystallized it was, and there was no strength for resistance left in me. Not with Neph's silky voice in my ear; not with his experienced hand feeling my exposed skin, exploring my weakness with the tip of his hungry fingers, trying to make me scream with delight. My breath became a panting, my body was scalding, and my will was his.

"Neph! What... what if someone...?" I muttered weakly, a final attempt of resistance sent from the back of my consciousness. At that moment, my resolve of staying clean was already forgotten. Withdrawal? Just a past nightmare.

"I locked the door," he said, whispering in my ear as I tightened my grip on the crystal beneath our hands.

I failed.

"So what are you waiting for?"

I guess I was wrong about my doubts: they weren't drawings made with a stick in the beach sand, washed away by the tide. That experience only made it clear it was easy to control someone with an addiction and carved my doubts in stone, making its presence undeniable and impossible to ignore.

Still, I was confused and torn. At one side, there was Kael'thas, our Prince, our role model. He was truly the most radiant light, a lighthouse. He was hope. There was also Neph. My soul mate. My love. But at the other side I had my Master, grim, blunt... and the most honest and wise man I've ever met. The man who tended and cared for me, and the embodiment of wisdom.

* * *

_"__The way you say it...," the man once again interrupted her narrative. "Seems like you'd already made your choice."_

_"__Not at that time, no," Aiwyn answered. Once her body started to cool down, she felt cold and pulled some sheets over her body. "I was worried about Neph. He was much deeper into the addiction than I was. But... I had hope he wasn't beyond a point of no return."_

_"__But what made you realize your Master was right?," the man asked her. "Did something happen?"_

_Yes, something happened. She answered:_

_"__Kirin'Var."_


	3. Chapter Two: Anger

My doubts were consuming me, and so I decided to go where I thought it all started - where that seed of doubt was born. After I talked to my Master, I decided to go back to the ruins of Kirin'Var and think of what sow doubt in my mind. "Maybe the ghosts of the obliterated village can help me", I thought, with denial still stirring in the depths of my head.

The Tempest Keep, our base of operations, was located at Netherstorm, a damned and desolated piece of land - or pieces of land, should I say. There is nowhere safe at Outlands now, where the very own land seems to want to devour you - but Netherstorm is unique. It is the picture of instability and chaos. I heard it was once a fertile green field, but then the Shattering literally tore the place and the pieces of the land still float loosely in the Twisting Nether. The ground has the violaceous hue of brute magic and the arcane storm raging above it all never ceases. Thorn, destroyed, chaotic. Everything there was unstable, collapsing, devouring itself. The most bizarre creatures made up of brute mana wander aimlessly, while some big chunks of rock float by the edge of the land, still infused with arcane power - and everytime I return to this place, it seems worse. It was as ironic as it was tragic that our search for hope took us to such a hopeless place.

But there was life there too. Kirin'Var was once a small village that served as base to Kirin'Tor mages when the Alliance sent their forces to Draenor. The village suffered deeply when the Shattering occurred, but it survived. Clinging to the cliff, facing the Twisting Nether, it survived. I admire the survivors for such spirit, living in such a chaotic place and seeing the land crumbling around them, while the only thing they could do was to keep on living. They were brave.

But they didn't survive us.

With that silky voice that made me shiver, filled with so seductive hope and promises, Kael'thas told us they were a threat, and we didn't question him. How could we? He was our Prince, our hope, our light. We were such idiots.

And so we fell upon the village with everything we had: a group of Kael'thas' most talented magi against a bunch of Kirin'Tor magi already struggling for survival in such a harsh land. They could barely react to our attack as we marched on them and destroyed a place they'd gotten used to calling home, burning houses to the ground. They could barely react when their children and elderly succumbed to us, writhing in pain from curses and screaming in agony. They could barely react because it was so fast, and we were too strong.

When the attack occurred, my blood pounding at my ears muffled the voices in my head trying to grab my attention, and for a moment, all I knew was the thrill.

It is when chaos falls upon a battle, and it always does, that I truly feel alive. I've heard that we don't live fully our lives because we rarely are - really are - in the present. We spend too much time thinking of the past or future. But in a battle, you're always living the present moment. There's where I feel I belong, I know there's where I'm supposed to be.

The elves invaded the city in a wave of crimson and gold, a tsunami of fire and death, filling the main streets and spreading through the smallest alleys. I remember going through an alley to catch the people trying to escape using the back doors, and a small group of elves followed along. My first victim was a man getting out of his house with a cleaver he barely had time to swing - the moment I saw him, I eagerly cast upon him a spell that enveloped his head in a glorious halo of flames and torment. I always found the patterns the dancing fire created while consuming flesh beautiful, hypnotizing and I could just stand there and watch. But through pain and agony, he screamed and insisted on trying to swing his cleaver at us, blindly, running to us with his head on fire; at least until I threw a fireball that made him fly a couple of yards before hitting the ground, motionless. I paid no mind to the farmer with a fork running to me, with the weakest imitation of a battlecry upon his lips - Neph quickly saw to him, putting him to the ground, writhing in pain from his casted curses while I took care of a swordsman trying to get him from behind. We had such a synchrony that is hard to achieve; it takes time to master it, but it seemed like a dance. We danced the dance of the doom-bringers by the song of the despaired, the screams of the defeated, while they pirouetted through the ballet of corpses-to-be, spinning around in pain while the flames insisted on being their partners. Neph was my partner, and he took care of me, allowing no harm to descend upon me - and I did the same to him.

The scent of despair is intoxicating, the chills of fear, exciting. It all takes me to a higher state of mind, where a sheer mist covers my mind and dulls all that is unnecessary: pain, doubt, empathy. My mind seems even sharper, my thoughts even faster. My blood boils and arcane power rush wildly through my veins, and out of a mere thought, the flames are born. Yes, I love the flames. I weave the flames that, as much slaves as lovers to me, are always hungry to devour the dead and the living. Yes, I love the flames, indeed.

And so, for something to pierce that inebriating mist and grab my attention, it must be something big. A faint restlessness grew in the back of my head, and soon enough a voice echoed louder and louder. Soon I understood this voice was asking questions: Why? Why were we doing it? Why were they a threat? Since when did the Kirin'Tor become a threat? Why did we slaughter beaten dogs? Why did we fall upon a shattered village, in the end of a shattered world? Why? Why? Why?

Soon enough that voice in my head was telling me - screaming at me - that I didn't belong there. Not to that fight. When we were ordered to retreat, I almost felt relieve, but that relieve was short lived.

I'm sure our retreat must have brought hope for the survivors of our first assault, but then Kael'thas annihilated their hope by releasing a mana bomb on the village. It was devastating. When the bomb touched the ground and exploded, a wave of violet arcane power spread all over the village and dragged every building and living being in miles - it reminded me of the break of a dam, where the waters are too powerful for anyone to fight against. All that is left now is the carcass of some more resilient buildings and the ghosts of the villagers.

The elves rejoiced, victory in our hands, watching the doom of our enemies from a safe distance. I felt my mouth dry and my voice abandoned me. There was something wrong in that picture.

"My love?" I heard that soothing voice behind me and turned. It was Neph, and he seemed worried about me. He never left my side during the attack, and I knew that for him the bloodshed had the same effect it had on me. In a different way, since it wasn't the dancing flames he loved - it was the agony and pain in the subjugated enemies. It was different, but I understood him - I truly understood him. He was blinded by it, however, and didn't realize my hesitation. He only noticed something odd when I didn't seem so satisfied and wasn't cheering up with the rest of the group. "Is there something wrong, my love?" he asked.

I nodded, and for just a moment my tongue got stuck. "I'm fine," I told him. "Just a little tired."

His sweet smile shed some light into my heart, but not even that, not even his arms around me, not even his hungry lips and passionate kiss were enough to erase the seeds of doubt born inside me that day.

There was something terribly wrong in that picture.

* * *

_"Seems like you participated quite actively in some of Kael'thas crimes," said the man. "You participated on the attack to Kirin'Var, you killed draenei, Kirin'Tor mages..."_

_"I even helped to build the mana bomb," Aiwyn added, her gaze lost on a spot well beyond the balcony and the beautiful night outside. "And I'm still under the impression that something that happened while I was under Kael'thas' service will come back to haunt me."_

_The man just shrugged._

_"Let me get this straight, then," he said. "Sometime after the fall of Kirin'Var you went back to the remains of the village to remember your honorable prowess," he continued, but the sarcasm on his voice was not bothering her. "Did something else happen there?"_

_"I was going to get there. Shut up and listen."_

* * *

There was no feeling of achievement or pride when I walked through the broken village, as much as our Prince insisted we should be proud. But for me, there was only some sort of sorrow, regret. Here and there I saw a ghost that kept doing what he did during his life, unaware of his current state, ignoring me completely. I started to get frustrated as I saw a man trying to fix a fence that was not there anymore; and on the other side of the road there was a little girl still playing with her doll, alone. I'm not sure why, but wild and mindless rage blazed inside me. Where did all that rage come from? Even that cold snake in my stomach, my addiction, stood back in fear as something else was awakening. It was shapeless, it was strong, and it was fire.

My denial quickly succumbed to this feeling, and before I could feel it suffocating me, I just gave vent to that rage. I quickly started to cast my flames again, as if I could explode if I kept it inside me, and the first victims of my wrath were the ghosts of the man and the girl.

Fire.

Big balls of fire enveloped my hands before they were tossed at them - in the last moment their heads finally turned to me, but then they were already struggling against the flames the same way they did in life, and the more they struggled, the faster the flames enveloped and consumed them. Even as ghosts, as sheer reflections of what they were, they were clinging to this world. And the flames consumed their soul the same way they consumed their flesh, only this time the flames brought them freedom and peace. Those tormented souls needed to be released from this world so they could rest in peace, but that was not my thought when I started to walk down the village and attacked every single thing I found. How did they dare to stand there, as proof of my mistake? Pointing out I was wrong - how did they dare?!

I walked, aimlessly, setting ghosts on fire. I walked, and that time the flames gave me no pleasure. I walked, and I had no idea where my wrath was taking me.

Of course, even if I directed my rage to them, eventually I realized I was angry with myself. I was so stupid; I should have noticed earlier we weren't walking the path of hope and cure. We weren't going to bring back glory to our people, not like that. There was not glory in that coward's attack, there was no...

"Aiwyn?"

I stopped. I have no idea how much I walked, but as I looked back, I saw a trail of recently charred ground, the remains of some buildings burning from fresh flames. I was ready to attack again, whoever it was, but then I stopped just in time. Just ahead, by the entrance of a building, there was an elf. A living one, carrying Kael'thas symbol, just like me. He was tall and had very pale blond hair; crouched, he seemed to be examining something on the ground. When he stood up, straightening his light and elegant robes, I could almost hear the crackling of old bones. He was Voren'thal, one of Kael'thas most trusted advisors.

"Is everything alright, child?" he asked me, hesitating in approaching me for a moment. "You seem disturbed."

My flames and my rage immediately faded. Voren'thal had an air of tranquility about him that made me feel as unbalanced and instable as a green leaf reacting to every gust of my feelings, even in my most stable moods. He seemed like a trusting person, regardful. And it was enough to make me ashamed of my rage and lower my hands and my eyes.

"The ghosts," I said the first thing that came to my mind. "They were disturbing me."

He nodded, and as my rage visibly faded before the cool winds of his serenity, he started to approach.

"I know what you mean," he said, as he stood by my side and looked around. Taking a closer look at him, I noticed a hint of sorrow in his voice and a wrinkle of concern. "I believe that deep down they know they aren't alive anymore. And yet they cling to the realm of the living... It is disturbing to know that such hope is useless. It won't change their fate."

His words echoed in my head, and I couldn't help but think he seemed to be reading my thoughts. But I couldn't tell him of my doubts, even if it was so tempting to seek advice from an older and wiser person. After all, he was our Prince's counselor, and I just realized how my doubts could be taken as treason.

Voren'thal looked back to the path I came from, and again shame flushed my face and I looked away. Now I was regretting my loss of control, even if brief and faint.

"You have a very distinctive magic signature, you know that?," he told me. "It is very... passionate."

"I heard that before," I answered. "But it's not enough to conceal the effects of the mana bomb."

He agreed, since he felt it too. Even so long after the bomb exploded, the place was still crackling and the air was still thick from residual arcane magic. It was like a magnetic field, prickling me and ruffling my hair.

"You helped to build it, right?" he asked me, even though he already knew it.

"Yes, but I never knew that it would be used against-," I stopped abruptly, thinking I should chose my words more carefully. I couldn't give him reasons to believe I was unhappy with our situation - no one could question my loyalty, or else I would end up in a very bad situation, not only for myself, but for Neph.

But Voren'thal didn't seem to want to scold me. He seemed to understand me, and perhaps - just perhaps - he even agreed with me.

"I was trying to see if it was possible to capture some of this residual arcane power," he stated. "Such a waste...," he took a look at the Violet Tower, and his gaze saddened even more. "But we should return to Tempest Keep, child. It is getting late."

"You're right, of course," I answered, as I started to prepare to teleport us back. "Allow me."

After that, I can even risk saying Voren'thal was trying to meet and talk to me alone. He caught me on another rage outburst a few days after that, when I was at the library alone, late at night. Neph was working on some obscure and secret project and I couldn't sleep without him, so I went to the library and tried to study a way of curing our addiction using herbs - again. At some point I got so frustrated I threw all the books on a table to the ground. I was about to scream my frustration when Voren'thal walked in and stopped when he saw the mess I just made.

"Did I come in a bad moment?" he asked politely.

"I... no... It was just... a spider," I said. I'm a terrible liar. Don't judge me.

"I heard you hate spiders, indeed," he said, amused, as he started to help me organizing the books again. Once again ashamed, I organized the books silently, avoiding eye contact. "You seem to be working too hard, dear. What are you doing here, so late?"

"I was studying, trying to find some way of curing the addiction with herbs," I answered. With the corner of my eyes I noticed a small smile on his lips. When we were finished, Voren'thal surprisingly sat before me and stared at me for a moment.

"I need to talk to you, child."

What would Voren'thal, the Seer, have to say to me? I started to grow apprehensive and restless for a moment, since I remembered our last encounter on the ruins of Kirin'Var; but that quickly faded. The elf was serious, but his serenity was contagious and soon fear abandoned my heart.

"I'm recruiting some of the most talented elves to join me," he started, his eyes set firmly on mine. "Our Prince has charged me with a very important mission, and I want you among our ranks."

It was an honor, of course, to be recruited by Voren'thal in person, although I feared for him, for he was frail. But I wasn't in the position to question him.

"I would be honored, Voren'thal," I answered. "What is this mission about?"

"We are going to take Shattrath city," he replied.

* * *

_"Wait a moment," said the man abruptly. "Voren'thal? Shattrath? You don't mean to tell me you were there when...?"_

_"Will you just shut up?" Aiwyn replied. "I'm gonna get there..."_

* * *

The silence that followed was suffocating. My mouth flinched, and I blinked far too many times. It was easy for him to read me, like an open book. It was Kirin'Var all over again - once again, we were going to fall with the best and brightest upon a shattered and weakened city. Kael'thas was firmly set on a path I wasn't sure to be the right one, anymore. What should I do? What should I tell his trusted advisor? What would Voren'thal think of my hesitation?

All my doubts passed before my eyes, but I needed an answer right away. I feared Voren'thal would take me as a traitor, but he was such a reasonable man that I needed to risk it. For some reason, I trusted Voren'thal; and it surprised me to realize I was starting to trust old and wise Voren'thal more than I trusted our Prince. Voren'thal reminded me of my Master, and I trusted my Master with my life.

"Voren'thal, do you think this will get us any closer to our purpose here?" I asked him as I looked away. I realized he was also choosing his words carefully as he answered, so I faced him again.

"Yes," he answered slowly. "Though maybe not the way our Prince believes."

It is so hard to describe how meaningful that was; how he managed to clearly state, by his voice, by his gaze, his words were more than it could seem. Were we really on the same page? Were we really talking about it? It was frustrating. I knew nothing of that subtle art of communicating through smiles and gestures and stares. I knew nothing about using words to say more than they actually are. I struggled to understand what he was trying to tell me - if he was trying to tell me something - and it was frustrating to notice I was failing.

"I... I'm not sure, Voren'thal. Shattrath..." I started to mumble, without giving my words much thought.

"It won't be another Kirin'Var, Aiwyn," he said firmly, patiently waiting for the information to sink in. "I promise."

My heart was trying to get out of my chest, beating wildly. I felt the weight of fate that moment, and I knew my decision would be some sort of mark in my life, and I was right. Had I answered anything else, it would be drastically different. So, I answered:

"Alright. I'll join your ranks, Voren'thal."

He seemed pleased.

"Good," he said, as he stood up. "I'll keep you updated."

"Voren'thal," I called him back, as an important issue crossed my mind. "Will Neph be recruited as well?"

The light from his face seemed to fade as he turned to me, and his voice was filled with sadness.

"He is not ready, my child."

My heart sank as I fully understood it. Neph, who was always at my side, would not be there this time. Neph, my love, would be left behind. Neph, my fiancé, my life. Neph...

As the days went by, I fully understood what "ready" meant. I tried to be careful with my words, since they always seemed to bring me trouble, but I started to talk to others that were recruited to Voren'thal's army. There were degrees of knowledge of what was behind Voren'thal's mission, but I felt that everyone recruited was, at some level, unsatisfied with our Prince. We talked in whispers, secrecy and discretion, and that made me tense and stressed.

Once I found myself in the library, late at night, with an elf named Aranthal, which before that day I only knew by sight. It was starting to become routine: I would wait at the library until Neph would get released from his chores; we met there and headed to our quarters together to sleep.

The library's quietness was about to wrap me in a peaceful sleep, so soothing it was to remain there, surrounded by knowledge tamed inside books that also slept at that time. Aranthal showed up when I was staring at a book without truly reading, as if demanding its secrets to reveal themselves to me. My vision was blurred and I managed to jump, startled, when he took a seat in front of me, as I was almost slipping to a dreamless slumber, sitting upright in the chair. At first I thought he was there for the same reason I was - to study, that is. He brought books, spread scrolls in front of him and seemed ready to spend the night with his head buried in his learning.

But then we started to talk, and eventually I realized he was there for another reason. The library was empty at that moment and we could talk freely, knowing there would be no one lurking behind the shelves.

"...And, I also hear we're going to be in the same squad in our march against the draenei of Shatratth," he said, changing the subject abruptly from his previous monologue on sources of arcane dust. The sudden change left me confused, but he acted normally as if there was no flaw in the logic of his sentence. He knew how to play that game, and he was good at it.

I wasn't. I raised my eyes to him and blinked a few times, pathetically, before the information sank in. I tried to act as usual, lowering my eyes to the book again and pretending I was reading it.

"Is there any kind of strategy?" I asked him. "We suffered enough already, if we could do this with the least casualties possible..."

"There will be no casualties," he said, patiently, turning the page of his book.

"You seem rather sure," I said. "There are always casualties."

Every step he took, every word he uttered seemed calculated. At this point I realized he took his eyes off his book and set them firmly on me, as if trying to pierce me with his gaze.

"No. Casualties."

He was trying to tell me something, and I could almost feel that piece of forbidden information floating just above my head - just beyond my reach.

"What is going to happen there, Aranthal?" I said, and my lack of subtlety was enough to make him flinch a bit. But he stood there in all politeness and dignity, as if trying to teach a dumb child how to read.

"I don't know," he answered, and I couldn't say if he was lying or not. "But I trust Voren'thal's decision."

"Me too. I have this feeling," I said. "That Voren'thal wants to walk down the path of healing before worrying about glories."

Aranthal even raised his eyebrows, as if the dumb kid actually said something smart. I even got the glimpse of a small smile trying to curve his lips, but he resisted.

"That's why we turned to Kael'thas, for a start. For healing, for a cure," he said, and I was surprised to see some of that untouchable politeness melting under what seemed to be resentment - burning and unwavering resentment. "He's playing with us," he ended, echoing my Master's words.

The feeling that Aranthal knew more than he wanted to say just grew stronger as we kept talking. But at the same time I noticed that he followed the same sort of wisdom that my Master was trying to stick into my head, and so, instead of getting suspicious about him, I took that conversation as one more reason why I should trust Voren'thal. My Master and Voren'thal voiced wisdom, and I that I could trust.

"But I'm not sure it's possible to apply that technique you used to brew potions out of Flame's Cap, Aiwyn," Aranthal said, the dialogue flowing as naturally as if we've been talking about it for hours. "It's not going to work."

Once again, it took me some time to realize what was going on, but I dare say I was a bit sharper. I realized he must've changed the subject because he saw someone approaching, since he was the one facing the door. And a moment after I finished the thought, Neph approached.

"Good evening," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Aiwyn, Aranthal. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all, Neph'Alor," he answered, with no sign of embarrassment so far. "But I'm afraid your fiancée is getting incoherent. She wants to brew potions out of Flame's Cap."

Maybe it was because I knew Neph better than myself, but I noticed a deeper and softer hint in his voice, and the hand he put on my shoulder was slightly heavier. Protective. Possessive. Aranthal knew how to read that signals very well, but didn't seem to be bothered, discretely retracting his presence and addressing me as Neph's. Usually I would find such display of jealousy amusing, but the fact Neph almost caught me in a conversation that was heading towards dangerous issues and questions left me tense.

That night, we simply bid Aranthal farewell and left to our chambers. There was a dark cloud of grimness over Neph's head as we silently undressed and prepared to sleep. As I put on a light night gown, I started to grow restless about that unusual, awkward silence when he finally broke it.

"I didn't know Aranthal took an interest in alchemy," he said, without turning to me, as I started to braid my hair. Jealousy consuming him, burning within, he didn't even dare to think of the true nature of our conspiracies. Or so I hoped.

"He doesn't. He was just there and asked what I was studying," I said, and it was the truth. But it wasn't enough to blow away that darkness hovering over him.

"Perhaps his interests lie someplace else," he answered as he sat by the bed and took off his boots. Sometimes my charming lover seemed to be possessed by a grim and irritable demon that turned his warm affection into a cold snake. Usually I noticed this change in his spirit when he was very frustrated or, like at that moment, when he had an excuse of a reason to be jealous. He became a completely different person, immune to reason, paranoid. Very hard to handle, stubborn. But most of the times, my affection, my love, would keep that monster inside him away; it would bring out the best he had. And his best was so sweet...

I wanted to avoid that change to come upon him that moment, and so I gently sat on his lap, with no more than my night gown to cover me, lighter than the wind. He made no objection when I reached out to help him undress, starting to unbutton his robe. Every button was a challenge I took with patience, holding his gaze into my eyes and never letting go. One by one, thoroughly striping him of every inch of cloth at a time, I started to reveal his smooth and lightly golden skin. I knew the fast way through his complicated robes, but taking it slow allowed him time to see my intention in my eyes and. The absence of a tighter grip would make frustration rise until he couldn't ignore it anymore.

"And where do you think his interests lie?" I asked him.

Not even the slightest smirk curved his lips as he faced me and narrowed his eyes. Even though he didn't oppose to my touch, it wasn't enough to placate his demons. Even though he felt the sparkle of desire, he was stubborn and would still hold onto the argument.

"On something that's forbidden," he answered. "On what's mine."

"Don't be silly," I told him, as my hands exposed his chest and my lips found their way to his neck. Even though he tried to keep a tough posture, I noticed the discrete flinch when my hands discretely slid down his chest to find his buckle. "He's no match for you."

"I know that," he said, finally giving me the grace of his touch as he cupped my face and gave me a soft, light caress. "Does he?"

"Why don't you ask him?" I challenged him.

His answer was a grim grunt. There were some words on the way too, but I'll never know what they were since he was forced to stop. More feeling than actually seeing, I noticed his hands moving towards his pocket, and my thoughts traveled fast. I feared he would be reaching for another mana crystal; and I feared that some part of me wanted it, yearned for it as much as I yearned for my lover's touch. I couldn't stand another defeat; I couldn't just stand and watch as my Flame suffocated under our bedsheets, as good as that sounded. As right as that felt.

I acted first, impulsively, aggressively. Before he could reach for anything, or do anything, I pulled him down roughly and attacked his body with lips and teeth. His arms got stuck in his half undressed robes and so, with limited moves, I found him vulnerable, heart open and exposed chest. I could even picture the battle going on inside his head at the moment I felt his skin with my lips. His body was tense, his arms trying to break free, resisting the spell of my warm lips dancing on his neck and sliding down his chest. He wanted to win the argument and keep that cloud of grimness out of stubbornness and pride, but his body answered promptly to my kisses. My lips left a trail of shivers as they slid down his torso, and before long, I knew I already succeeded in taking his mind away from the argument and into the sweet fields of desire. His breath became a panting and he was not resisting anymore, grabbing the sheets and embracing the moment, as well versed lips found their way to his pleasure, wandering lower. And lower. And lower.

My affection melted him that night, and I felt terrible for concealing information from him - I felt I was betraying him, my love, my life. My future husband. I felt like stabbing my own heart.

That was not a game for me, of schemes and subtlety, and I feared I would fail any time, so I tried to talk as little as I could. At some point, seeing how nervous I was, Voren'thal told me he had a vision about the future of our people, and assured me he would do his best to put us on the path he deemed to be the right.

Looking back at some of Kael'thas recent deeds, my faint seeds of doubt bloomed. Talking to others that felt the same, it now shaped a feared word:

Treason.

Were we really about to betray our Prince? No, that was not it. Kael'thas was the one who betrayed us; he led us to a path of self-empowerment, and fed us hope so we could keep by his side. Like my Master said, he was attracting moths to the light, and the thought made anger boil in my stomach. We were such idiots.

But that was not the worst part for me. Neph was thriving by walking down that path, the Prince's path, and it hurt me to realize I couldn't trust to tell him anything about Voren'thal's true intention. I felt a hand squeezing my heart as, for the first time, I was concealing information from him. He felt some restlessness in me, but he thought it was about the battle per se; he seemed quite sure we would just crush and take Shattrath and I would be back to his arms before long.

I realized what was wrong with the picture of the devastated village of Kirin'Var. The lingering sorrow, the deep and maddening sadness. It reminded me so much our fallen kingdom, the beautiful city jewel of Silvermoon crumbled and the weeping of the survivors. Were we fated to become the same sort of monster that destroyed our kingdom? Neph embraced his inner monster with such satisfaction that I could even wonder if those monsters weren't already there, all along. I couldn't even dare think about that.

Neph wasn't going with me, but if only I could make him see - truly see - how that path we were following was the wrong one, maybe... just maybe... he would follow us on this new and enlightened path Voren'thal promised.

Maybe.


	4. Chapter Three: Bargaining (Part I)

My first opportunity to talk to Neph was days after that, and by then I had my speech ready in my head. It happened when I was carrying out a mission in the open area of Netherstorm, clearing a section of some mana disturbances that were roaming the place and collecting the mana residue they left. The mana disturbances in that place resembled the mana wyrms I've seen in our lands; serpentine creatures made out of pure mana, that swam in the air as a snake would swim in water, and consumed arcane power and beings made of it, such as ourselves. In a certain light, their head resembled a dragon's head, and even though that could make them look ferocious, they were no real threat. They were more of a nuisance, not worthy of the time of someone important.

I stopped to rest a moment, sitting atop a rock by the road while drinking some water, when I saw Neph approaching. He was riding a golden dragonhawk, and soon enough landed by the road.

I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck, holding him tight to my body.

"Hello, my love," he said, before he kissed me tenderly and showed me that smile that made me remember why I fell for him. My heart sang the song of hope. Neph was an intelligent man, a reasonable man. He would listen to me, above all.

"Hi Neph. What are you doing here?," I asked as I sat by the spot I was resting and indicated him to join me in my meager snack.

"I heard you were appointed to carry out such a demeaning task, and so I decided to check on you. And bring you this," he said as he sat by my side and showed me a box of my favorite sweetrolls he brought me.

"You know that's why I love you, right?," I said as I gave him a light peck on the cheek and grabbed one of the sweets. "So you heard I got grounded?"

"Hard not to," he said as he joined me in my break and started to eat and drink too. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing. You know how the world is cruelly unfair to me."

"Sure..."

"I just... suggested, in a very direct way, that... Lord Sanguinar was as boring and plain as his butt," I confessed my crime, making him chuckle.

"And I imagine someone heard it and told him," he said, chuckling, yet trying not to.

"There was no need for that. I said it to his face, anyway."

"Yeah, sure. Why bother being gentle and diplomatic?," he said, now laughing openly. "You got lucky you just got scolded with a demeaning task and not truly punished."

"I know. Like I said, he is boring," I answered, laughing too.

The conversation went on through silly subjects, flowing naturally. His laugh made my heart light and hopeful, and so we just stood there for a couple of minutes, enjoying ourselves, eating sweetrolls and drinking water, appreciating the devastated view of a shattered place. The arcane storm raged wildly above us, but at that place it was as natural as summer rain, and so we ignored it. We spotted some mana disturbances roaming at far distance, aimlessly, confused; but at that place they were as natural as rabbits hopping in the field, and so we ignored it. Since when did such unnatural things seem so normal to us? Since when did such chaotic and disturbed appearances seem ordinary?

As long as I had Neph by my side, I didn't care for the rest. Until then.

After we finished our snack, we just lay back, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the storm above us. The sky was never blue and happy at Netherstorm.

"This place is dying," I said, after a couple of minutes of silence.

"Why do you say that?," Neph asked me.

"Because it is true," I answered. "This place reminds me of an agonizing animal, bleeding to death."

"Well..." he said, lightly. "This place was dying before we arrived. Let's just say we won't let all this arcane power go to waste. You know very well how much power the mana forges are harvesting right now. It is wonderful."

The very land of Netherstorm was imbued with magical power, and once we arrived and took the enchanted fortress of Tempest Keep, we also built mana forges. Those mana forges were now sucking the arcane forces out of the land, but "wonderful" was not the kind of word that came to my mind. I couldn't help but think of a leech sucking blood.

The sheer stability that place had - all that was keeping it from just turning into dust and vanish into the Twisting Nether, I mean - was because of that power.

"We are bleeding this place to death," I said.

"This place means nothing to anyone. It will die anyway. Why are you so concerned about this place?" he said as he got on his elbows to look at me. He was starting to get worried.

"Do you remember home, beloved?" I asked Neph, and he seemed surprised with the change of the subject.

"Of course I do, Ai," he answered, with a light caress up my neck. "Our golden forests, more precious than all the gold in the world. The streams full of silver fish, quick like arrows, the grass always green. That lake..."

"What if we can't stop?," I asked quickly, before his caress could take my mind away. "What if this is to be the fate of our homeland when we come back?"

Surprise held his words for a moment. My questions were odd for him - unnatural. I was bringing annoying and disturbing questions for him, but he never showed signs of anger or being disturbed by them. There was only concern in his eyes. He cared for me so much... But he also loved home the same way I did, and so I thought that would have him worry the same way I did.

"This is nonsense, darling... What have you been dreaming?," he answered, trying to cheer me up with a smile and a small peck on the lips.

"Could you stop if you wanted to?" I asked, and even if I didn't state it clearly, he knew I was talking about that uncontrollable thirst - that insatiable hunger, the need we felt of feeding upon magic.

"Of course, Aiwyn," he answered. The certainty in his sentence was more unsettling than it was comforting. "And you shouldn't bother yourself with such issues. We are doing this to save our homeland. To save our people."

"Neph..."

"I assure you, it won't be long before we go back home and, by the light of the Sunwell or not, crowned by the golden leaves of our beautiful forests, on the glory of our rebirth... we will be married."

That made my heart skip a beat. It is beyond mere words to describe how I yearned for that - how much I wanted to believe him. He left a small peck on the back of my hand - the hand that had my gold engagement ring - before he attacked my lips with passion. I was putty in his hands, my words fell on deaf ears, and even if everything was going wrong, that felt so right.

I should have noticed by then that even though he spoke of saving our people, our homeland, some sort of disdain for life has been slowly growing in him. And unlike me, it didn't seem to bother him.

But that moment of affection didn't last long, since we both felt someone approaching by the road, and so we separated. We started to get up and prepare to leave, when I recognized who was approaching. It was Nalysa, riding a purple hawkstrider, ready to shatter a peaceful moment once again. Recalling our last meeting all of a sudden made the crystal she gave me, still in my pocket, feel heavier. The defeat of my will, still fresh in my mind, still hurt.

"Heya, lovebirds," she greeted us, stopping by the road. She had the gift of being - or seeming - happy all the time. "Isn't this a bit too public, even for you?"

"Nonsense," Neph replied. "But since you're annoyed by it, I'll take my leave..."

"Yes. Go away. Girl's time," she said with the most innocent smile.

I wasn't in the mood for jokes, and so I just bid Neph farewell with a last kiss and watched him as he mounted on his dragonhawk and flew away. I had the feeling I just lost a battle.

"Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds," Nalysa said as she approached, still mounted. I guess she interpreted my newborn bad mood by the fact she interrupted us. "I heard you were grounded by saying something stupid, and I thought I could drop by to laugh at you."

"Very thoughtful of you, thank you very much."

"Also, I thought I could give you a hand on your mission, so you could finish it sooner," she kept on talking, "and help me on my mission. It's an interesting one."

* * *

_"I'm not about to hear about two giggly girls talking about men's junk while combing each other's hair, right?"_

_"Why, do you wanna hear about it?" she said. "I'm surprised you managed to stay silent for so long. But if you insist on hearing it..."_

_"It depends. If you two started making out..."_

_"You're the worst listener ever, do you know that?"_

_"Is this important? I'm getting bored. Could you skip it to Shattrath?" he said as he stretched his body, making no attempt of hiding his sailor's chest muscles._

_"It is important. You wanted to listen to the story. But I'll try to go faster then. Now shut up and listen."_

* * *

Nalysa helped me with my mission, and so we finished it in a matter of a few hours, and when we were done, she asked me if I could help her in her task. She told me she was assigned to take care of a situation in one of the mines, where something was attacking the workers. The mine was evacuated and no one knew what exactly was in there. We were supposed to find out and deal with it. Simple. Straightforward.

We were very confident we could take that task easily, and so we headed to the mine, mounted on Nalysa's purple hawkstrider. We hesitated briefly, without even noticing, before stepping in the mine, leaving the hawkstrider behind.

It was a mine like any other in Netherstorm. The air was heavy and wet, stone walls closing around us and echoing our every step. Most of the equipment and buildings the elves had set up there were intact, most of the supply boxes still piled up neatly.

We knew there was something in there waiting for us, preying on us, the moment we stepped in. Every step we took, we felt our heart rate rising slightly, in an agonizing crescendo of tension.

Ba-bum... Ba-bum... Ba-bum...

We were prepared to face some sort of mindless beast, at least three times our size, with long and sharp claws. But something like that makes noise; something like that leaves trails, marks. Leftovers.

The mine was completely abandoned. There were some disturbing blood smears and scratches here and there along the way, and we saw bags, cups and tools laying on the ground, abandoned, no doubt by the desperate need of escape. But other than that, there was no trail or mark from a big beast. At some point I realized I was holding Nalysa's hand.

We moved on. All corridors were almost exactly like the one before. Sometimes we emerged on a larger chamber, but they were so similar I had the terrible impression we were walking in circles. And all the corridors and chambers were empty, not even a soul to haunt them. Not even a squealing rat.

It wasn't pitch dark most of the way, some crystals placed on the ground still emitting their soft light. Maybe it would be better if it was darker, since the faltering light of the crystals played tricks on our minds. Did something just move there? Weren't there too many shadows on the wall?

...ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum...

Silence. It was an oppressing silence, disturbing and suffocating, and it also played tricks on us. Was it just the echo, or was there an extra set of steps? Was it just me, or there was another raspy breath in the back of my head? I glanced over my shoulder more times than I can count.

None of us had the instincts of a hunter, but it was hard to miss the feeling that we were being followed - maybe it was the chill crawling up our spine. We weren't trying to be stealthy either, shedding light over our way with our magic. We wanted to draw its attention; we wanted to force it out of its hideout. It wasn't a very good strategy, now that I think back on it.

Whatever it was that lurked there waited for us the reach the depths of the mine. My first idea, that it was some sort of large brainless beast that would pursue any sign of life, or maybe an aberrant and wild mana disturbance, seemed ridiculous by then. It was a crafty predator, and we entered its lair just like that, with no plan in mind whatsoever - our arrogance and lack of caution dictated our steps.

Then came that fateful moment when we let our guard down. We reached a big chamber in the deepest place of the mine and stopped to take a look at it. Nalysa quickly turned her attention to a map hanging on the wall, and I went over some crates by the other side of the chamber. I was starting to get more worried than my pride would allow me to admit and hoped to find some sort of provision in those crates. Otherwise, what exactly was that thing feeding upon? We've seen no bodies so far, and the idea was starting to make me sick.

We spread several balls of light made out of magic along the chamber. We were hoping to attract the thing, but for a minute we got distracted, and that was enough. I was rummaging through the crates when I heard this sucking sound, and all my hair bristled. The magic of the balls of light faded and we dove into darkness.

...BA-BUM-BA-BUM-BA-BUM...

A second of trembling silence, and then the fight exploded around me. Nalysa started to scream, and her screams echoed a hundred times along the corridors, deafening to elven hearing. It seemed like something just sucked every fiber of light contained by the room, even from the crystals, and so the overpowering darkness made it nearly impossible to attack without risking hurting Nalysa as well.

"NALYSA!"

Panic froze me for a moment, and it took me some precious seconds to understand something was attacking Nalysa, her screams stabbing my brain and scrambling my thoughts. I could barely hear the noises of the struggle, but I started to cast another ball of light. Nalysa bumped around, hitting tables and tripping until she fell to the ground. Some flashes of light indicated she was trying to cast a spell, but failing. I imagined a hand must have closed around her throat, since the gagging sounds took the place of her screaming. But there was still something screaming, yelling, and I realized it was her attacker, and it was yelling in thalassian, murdering our beautiful tongue with its guttural, rasping voice:

"...give it to me... give it to me, give it, GIVE IT TO ME!"

It all happened in a matter of a few seconds, and I was afraid I would be too late when I finally threw the ball of light into the direction I thought the fighting was happening. Nalysa's attacker was on top of her, one hand on her throat, but shrugged when the light hit the wall behind it and then turned to me - I was ready to cast another spell but then I froze in place.

For one second I had an unveiled view of the thing, as it turned its attention towards me, in a surreally slow movement it would seem - and that image imprinted on my retinas as if burned with hot iron. The eyes that starred back at me were bulged and frantic, filled with madness. It was humanoid, thin and pale, although mildly distorted. Bony, it seemed to have a hump and deep sucked-in chest - I remember thinking of it as little more than a skeleton. The hair that remained on its head looked like straw, and its moves were graceless - but it moved fast, and in a matter of moments it left Nalysa and was in front of me.

I managed to put my staff in front of me to avoid the flying drool coming out of that disgusting mouth, but I could still feel its sickening breath and a claw-like hand closing around my neck. Everything started to get blurred and muffled as it pinned me against the stone wall, but I clearly remember I noticed that moment the thing had pointy elven ears.

Not only was the air abandoning my lungs, but I felt my arcane power being sucked out of me and with it my hope. Maybe it's hard for someone who's not a spellcaster to understand how much despair that can bring, but think what you'd feel if your muscles wouldn't answer in the middle of a battle. Or if the hand you use to wield a sword was cut off. If a swordsman is all that he can do with his sword, I was only what my magic allowed me to be. A swordsman need his sword, I need my magic - that's how it works. And that thing was cutting me off of my mana supply, stealing away the source of my power. I started to scream.

And for something so thin and bony, it was stronger than it looked. I was incapable of casting, both my breath and magic power slipping through my fingers. Unconsciousness would soon hit me, but then I noticed movements above the thing's shoulder. Nalysa managed to get on her feet and was casting another spell - with the ball of light I casted before, she would be able to hit the beast. With the strength I didn't feel I had in my shaky arms, I ended up succeeding in pulling my attacker to the side, which was enough for Nalysa. She hit it with a blast of ice that froze the beast against the wall, and I tripped to the side. Taking large gulps of air, I desperately dragged myself away from the thing and Nalysa helped me up.

It never stopped struggling, and we heard the ice crackling. The incoherent grunts echoed loudly, punctuated by some understandable words, and for a moment I felt we were inside of the head of a mad person and the madness was sinking into me. All that came out of that creature's mouth was disgusting, sickening, and made me feel tainted just by hearing it.

We only took a glance at each other, and at the same time, casted fireballs to fling at the thing. The explosion shook the whole mine and when the echoes started to slowly fade away, although still there in our minds, we noticed our attacker was reduced to a large splatter on the wall.

There was no sense of achievement. The tension never dissipated.

* * *

_"What the fuck was that?" the man asked, after a while._

_"It was the first time we encountered a Wretched."_

_"A Wretched? But..."_

* * *

He stopped, with the words ready to jump from his lips again, when she threw at him that "fuck off" look and continued. Surprisingly enough, the man remained silent without further persuasion.

We headed out swiftly, eager for fresh air. We left that thing burning to the bones and spoke nothing until we reached the entrance of the mine. We sat, only drinking water and recovering, with matching bruises on the neck, incapable of doing more than that for a moment. I could still feel my heart trying to climb up my throat, and as the adrenaline rush started to fade, I began to really feel the pain in my neck - and I was sure Nalysa was experiencing something similar.

"What was that?" she finally spoke, the first words uttered in a while.

"I don't know," I said.

Nalysa visibly hesitated in continuing, and I flinched because I knew what she was going to ask next, and I didn't want to think about it.

"Was... was it an elf?"

"No!" I answered, too fast and too loud, trying to prevent her from saying such horrible and unthinkable words that could not be unsaid. Too blunt, as if trying to force myself to believe my own words.

"Was it?," she asked weakly, turning to me those big round eyes, begging with her gaze for me to say that all the monsters in her nightmares weren't real.

"I... I don't know..." I answered, avoiding eye contact.

But she insisted.

"Aiwyn, it was wearing elven clothing," she said, making me face her and looking at me as if hoping I would give her a reasonable explanation for that. "It was wearing our tabard!"

But I had no reasonable explanation for that. I just lowered my eyes and got up. I didn't want to look so distressed in front of her, maybe because I always felt I was the strong one. She always came at me with the questions and doubts, and I always helped, or, if not, at least soothed her spirit. I had no soothing words now.

"Let's go. Leave me out of your report."

That night, I went back to my chambers, anxious, seeking only advice of my Master. He would have the answer I needed, like always.

Neph was stuck in his work till late again, so I could speak freely with my Master. I kept calling for him, in front of the mirror, for about fifteen minutes without stopping. He must have felt my haste, since I saw a slight wrinkle of worry when he finally showed up. Upon seeing the unchanged grimness of his face, I felt relief flooding me. He was my compass, the voice of wisdom, and he was always there for me - the same old Master who had steered me right in the past, and into the future.

"What now?" he asked, short and blunt.

"Something happened," I replied quickly.

There was a moment of silence as he just stared at me, without even blinking. He then just turned his upper body back and, with a large gesture of his hand, the window jumped on its frame and shut eagerly, as did the door. When that was completed to his satisfaction, he turned to talk to me.

"Talk," he said.

In times like this I was extremely grateful for my Master's blunt and practical way. He realized I was troubled and made no questions. He always supported me the way I needed, and he was actually more caring than he let others realize. In a matter of seconds, he was ready to absorb anything I was to say and ponder over it, serious.

"There was something attacking one of the mines over here, and Nalysa was charged of taking care of it," I began, trying to make it short and simple. I realized I was talking too fast. "She asked me to help her, and so I accompanied her. Maybe it was for the best. I mean, I'm not questioning her abilities, but..."

"What did you find there?" my Master interrupted me, trying to keep me focused. He knew me enough to realize I was nervous. But then I hesitated a moment to answer that, since it was the question that's been bothering me.

I started to narrate the scene in what I meant to be a quick and coherent speech, ending up a verbose and nervous monologue of facts, filled with unnecessary pauses after long minutes of intense narrative, when breathing seemed secondary. At least the reasoning required for that calmed me down a little. My Master just stood there, without moving, the only indication I had he was listening was the deepening grimace.

"I'm not crazy, okay?" I said, after the frenetic narrative. "It... it seemed like an elf! But... he was so... deformed."

Master remained silent for a moment, and then started to walk up and down the room, his eyes lowered. His silence was making me nervous again.

"And it was trying to feed on us," I continued. "It attacked us and tried to steal our magic from us. If either of us had been there alone..."

"That's bad," he finally spoke after a while, without stopping or looking at me. "It's worse than we thought, then."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, impatient.

He stopped walking around and returned.

"I don't need to say that what I'm about to tell you is not to leave this room, right?" he said, and as I nodded, he continued. "Sometime after the Sunwell's destruction, there have been sightings of... things... very similar to what you just described."

"And what are these things?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Of course it was obvious, but I didn't want to say it out loud. I didn't want to acknowledge it, since pretending I didn't see it was more comfortable. But my Master was devoted to the truth, and didn't like me to run from it either.

"They are elves, Aiwyn," he said. "At first, I thought it was just a transformation due to the absence of the Sunwell's power. Some sort of extreme withdrawal crisis. Some people are trying to take a closer look at it, and I heard... Are you okay?"

As he started to explain, I started to wander away from the mirror and felt the blood abandon my face. Withdrawal? Was that to be my next step? Was that... transformation going to happen to me? Were my shaky hands going to become claws? Was my beautiful hair going to fall off and would madness consume me? In my head I still saw that thing turning its mad eyes to me, and when its blackened and disgusting mouth opened, drool dripped from it and it let out the most incoherent grunts in that horrible guttural voice. I nodded to Master and weakly said I was listening and he should go on. I felt my mouth dry.

"I guess I was wrong," he said, and I faced him again, hopeful. "I heard another theory. They're calling these things 'Wretched'. They say it's possible they're elves who succumbed to addiction. They always seem to be trying to get more and more arcane power... Just like you said."

My faint hope vanished as I just stared at him. It took a while for the information to sink in, and when it did, I found myself numbed.

I understood then that when I looked into those bulged frantic eyes, I was looking into our own future. That was the fate of the sin'dorei, should we stay on that path. In our desperation to restore the glory of our kingdom, we started to trail the path of our doom. We became parasites, leeches, sucking the arcane power of this world to our own content. To our Prince's content. And so, because of that, because of our disgusting actions we were to become disgusting creatures. We should have known; we should have noticed before that we couldn't just try to mine hope, we couldn't just try to harvest glory. Our need for the magical powers drove us, and we readily masked it with nice words such as "hope" and "glory", but there was none of it there.

But my Master was a practical man, and he wouldn't let me just fade into numbness and lethargy.

"Don't despair. You can trust Voren'thal. Follow him."

And there was Voren'thal too. What did he say, again? When I asked him if he thought our attack to Shattrath city would bring us closer to our purpose, he said...

Yes. Though maybe not the way our Prince believes.

"How do you know about Voren'thal?" I said after a moment.

"Just trust me."

And so I trusted him. I was used to have the feeling my Master knew more than he would say, but it was always for my own safety. He always protected me and cared for me. And so I trusted him.

But I kept wondering...

Could it have been different? What if I told Neph about the Wretched? What if I told Neph about my Master and Voren'thal? What if I insisted and made Voren'thal accept Neph in the army?

But I guess I'll never know. Next day, Nalysa looked for me and we talked about what we saw. It was one of those rare situations where her happiness faded and she turned into a quiet and thoughtful woman. I could almost see the seeds of doubt in her mind being born, but I couldn't say much.

Once again, we met at the library, but this time we didn't utter a word to each other as she approached, much less excited as usual. She reminded me a withered flower. With a parchment paper at hand, she sat by my side and we started writing:

"Are you okay?" she wrote first, the silence feeling particularly deep and worried coming from her, usually so expansive.

"As much as I can be. And you?" I wrote the second line.

"Not so much. I couldn't sleep that night," she wrote and I raised my eyes to her. There were, indeed, dark circles beneath her eyes. "It seemed like an elf," she continued writing, insisting, begging me to deny it.

But I couldn't. I'd always spared her from the nightmares I'd had, but the same way my Master tried to open my eyes to the truth for my own safety, I felt it was time to try the same for her. I couldn't keep on lying to her or else she would keep on following on that path I now deemed wrong.

"It was," I wrote, after hesitating a moment.

She faced me, eyes wide-opened, surprised I could tell her the horrible truth, and not some soothing, convenient lie, as she was used to hearing. I shouldn't have lied to her - ever. But she was so eager to accept it, begging for those harmless lies. "It's all gonna be okay", or "Don't worry about that, it's nothing" or even "Trust me".

"I'll tell you all I know about it when I return from Shattrath," I kept on writing. After a second of hesitation, I added: "Trust me."

She swallowed hard, her big and sweet eyes searching for hope in mine. Weakly, she nodded. When I reached out for her, she readily fell into my arms and I hugged her close, hoping that it would be enough to protect her.

She wasn't recruited by Voren'thal, and we would be leaving the next day. When we burned the paper that day, after exchanging some more words, recalling our encounter with the Wretched, it had a different feel to it. Those lines didn't contain a silly secret, but yet doubts and unsettling questions. Doubts we shouldn't have.

I wrapped my neck in some bandages to conceal the bruises and told Neph I was careless, that a Mana Wyrm bit me. It was the first thing that came to mind, and he accepted it, since he had no reason to doubt me.

Blindfolded, the golden mist of promises, hope and pleasure that covered my eyes was brutally ripped by the Wretched we encountered, and I felt the ground opening beneath my feet. It wasn't for me I feared, but for Neph. I tried to talk to him again, but I failed just like last time.

I found him chilling on a couch located at the depths of the library. He seemed so relaxed, with a satisfied smirk upon his lips and a thoughtful sparkle lighting up his face, I just wondered what sort of thoughts were traveling through his mind. Something good, I guessed. Something to bring such light and beauty to his face that could make my heart skip a beat. There seemed to be a hint of sweet malice upon his lips, which made me wish to be the center of his daydreaming. I just finished the thought and he noticed me approaching, giving me a warm smile and pulling me to sit with him.

"Hello, Ai," he said, giving me an affectionate kiss. His eyes seemed brighter than usual. "I'm just waiting for Il'than. We have to discuss some things, but I guess he won't show up so soon."

His hair fell from his shoulders in a cascade of gold, a golden halo or crown. Some of the anxiety I carried with me dissipated before such relaxed aura, before I realized what was wrong. It was not my love that made my fiancé look more handsome than usual - that light in is face could only mean one thing...

He brought me closer to cuddle, but between his lips and arms, I noticed with my peripheral vision some sickly moves and turned to see what it was. As a warlock, Neph had the power to summon directly from the Twisting Nether different types of demons and subjugate them to his will. It was not unusual to see an Imp on his heels, since he never managed to get rid of it, as he said. I already saw the Imp as a pet - a very ugly one, but still always present, like a dog lying on a carpet in the background of a family portrait. He looked like a small demon, long and pointy ears, razor sharp teeth and long arms that nearly touched the ground and ended up in claws. Ugly, disgusting, fiendish, but still... ours.

"What is wrong with your Imp?" I asked as I bended over to see him better. Usually so agitated - too agitated - his Imp was cowering, trying to drag himself beneath the couch, but apparently too weak to do so. "Seems like he's dying. Is he ok?"

"He's... tired," Neph said, and the absence of concern in his voice made me stare at him inquisitively. Just then, before his bright green eyes, I made the connection.

"You fed on him," I said, as understanding sank in. Imps are known to have a large pool of fel magic, and wield it ferociously. We had already fed on him many times before, previously, but in none of those times did the Imp seem to get so weak. He seemed dried out of strength, cowering under the couch, where the sweet darkness could embrace him.

"So?" Neph asked, perplexed by my concern. "Do you want some too?"

"It could kill him," I answered, even more confused. Why would he bring such pain to a creature under his rule? And just to sate his thirst?

"No need to worry, beloved," he said, with that sweet smile enlightening his face as he cupped mine with one hand. "If it dies, I'll get you another. Would you like that?"

I've seen it before, that disdain for life, but never have I really paid attention to it. Without that golden mist covering my eyes, I saw it for what it was, and it scared me.

"My love... Don't you think you're overdoing it?" I tried to ask him softly, afraid he would find that hidden doubt that I have been keeping from him.

"Nonsense," he said, secure and without the smallest hint of doubt to bend his words and thoughts. "Why are you worried? It's just an Imp."

A new wrinkle of concern was born in my heart before those words. Not only did I fear about his future if he surrendered to the addiction, but I also started to worry that his inner demons, the ones that paid their visits eventually, were actually lured by the sweet temptation of his addiction in fel magic, and that my sweet, gorgeous and beloved fiancé was starting to get corrupted by them. I feared his demons arrived and intended to stay.

I lost my words for a moment, and soon enough Il'than appeared, almost as if he popped out of the bookshelves. Il'than was a warlock, just like Neph, but the similarities stopped there. He made me think of an old spider, always lurking around with his unchanged peaked face and silent steps, covered in all shades of gray and pale purple. Taller and skinnier than Neph, he also had none of that beautiful golden aura my beloved carried. He kept his black hair short, his dark and elegant robes neatly kept, and even though he seemed always polite and respectful, there was something about him I didn't like. But he was Neph's friend, colleague, and I put up with him the same way Neph put up with Nalysa.

"Neph'Alor. Aiwyn," he greeted us, bending his head discretely. No emotion bended his voice though, as if his soul was empty, and maybe that's what bothered me about him. He was cold, and even if his stern looks could remind me of my Master, they were as different as winter and summer: they were both smart, severe, but my Master was a passionate man, filled with fire and anger and anguish. Il'than seemed empty.

But he was also incredibly intelligent, which was the reason he was Neph's colleague, since they were both equally talented.

"I thought you would be late today," Neph said, making a gesture for his friend to sit. But he didn't.

"Someone exploded something on the alchemy laboratory again, so my meeting with one of the alchemists had to be postponed. I wonder what happened..." Il'than continued as his icy gaze slowly turned to me. Suddenly I broke free of the bewilderment that was holding back my words.

"It was not me. Not this time," I quickly replied, but as he just narrowed his eyes to me I finally understood he thought of me as nuisance at the moment. So I stood up. "I guess you two needed to talk, right? I'll take my leave than."

I bid Neph farewell and left, feeling Il'than's eyes on my back until I got out of sight. I knew he didn't like me, but I never put much thought into it. That also proved to be a mistake, but at that moment I just left them so they could talk about their research in peace. Defeated, once more, I retreated.

And when I thought I could try to talk to Neph at least one more time in the end of the day, when we returned to our chambers, I was wrong. When I entered our room, I felt the scent of roses. Neph prepared me a very special farewell. He gave me roses and made me smile and laugh like I hadn't in a while. He made me giggle and shiver, sigh and pant. He made love to me desperately, and I loved him so deeply and completely, that the very thought that the next day I would be away from him, made my heart ache.

But morning came despite of my feelings. It was with a heavy heart that I took my place among Voren'thal's army, with my mind still on the last night.

And so we marched.


	5. Chapter Four: Bargaining (Part II)

Voren'thal's army wasn't big, but it comprised some of the brightest among us. It was a strong, cohesive force, more than enough to take the broken city of Shattrath. As we gathered to leave, Neph approached to say goodbye.

Some people envied us. Our love was so obvious and true that left no doubt for anyone to contest. Even if our farewell kisses were soft and calm, restrained by the presence of so many elves around us, gathering and getting ready for the departure, our gazes were intense and devoted to each other. That was the last time he held me with such tenderness; that was the last time he kissed me with such pure love and affection.

I was forced to take my mind away from the night before and focus on what we were doing. We gathered in small groups with at least one mage on it, and so we were instructed to teleport the small group to a chosen area at Zangarmarsh. The reason we weren't teleporting right up to Shattrath's doorstep was that it was a long distance, a big group and it would leave us exhausted and with little time to organize and rest. I also believed that Voren'thal didn't want it remembered as a coward's attack: the city was already broken, struggling to rise again, and were we going to attack it in its sleep? I suspected he wanted to give the defenders time to notice our presence and build up the defense lines. I liked to believe that; I didn't want to murder anymore children and unarmed peasants.

Teleporting to a closest location might have saved us some days of marching, but still it took us the whole day to teleport everyone and regroup. We couldn't all just teleport to the same point, and so we were given specific points in the marsh to teleport to, each one of them a mile or so away from the other. It all happened quite smoothly, and just half of my group ended up in the middle of the river. I guess I could have been more focused.

We regrouped and set our camp. As I looked around, I remembered what I felt the first time I'd been to the marsh. It was as impressive as it was threatening. I breathed in the wet and heavy air of Zangarmarsh and had the feeling that the trees were watching me. Sometimes I had the feeling that the leaves and grass would swing away with no breeze; that the forest was closing around me, embracing me. Some plants, fungi and animals emitted a soft and peaceful light that made the use of torches nearly unnecessary. Also, the mushrooms were everywhere, and some of them were so big that they grew up high above the tallest trees. It was such a surreal place it was easy to understand that, before the Shattering, that place was actually the bottom of the sea.

For a botanist, it was quite a fascinating place. Lots of different kinds of plants, with a myriad of different and interesting properties were growing there, some of them just waiting to be discovered. Even though the air was heavy there, it seemed purer, fresh, vibrating with life. I could smell the wood and the moss; I could hear the buzz of insects and flapping of wings of the shy, hidden birds. There were no demonic forces tainting that place that remained, as much as it could, free from demonic influence. As far as I knew, at least. But the same way a rose have thorns, that place was far from being safe. Like I said before, there was no safe place at Outlands. The marsh was infested with giant insect-like creatures, sapient fungi, poisonous things and things I didn't even bother to understand what they were. None of those would trouble us, however, since we were strong, united and organized.

What put me at rest, at the moment, was that I brought Ala'Nyr with me. After I built up my small tent, I built a nest for Ala'Nyr with sticks and grass covered by some pelts, and couldn't help but think it looked better than my poor tent. If I could have learned anything from my years spent on the wilderness, was to not complain about the lack of comfort. I could have learned useful things, you know, like fishing, skinning and hunting. A friend of mine, Katu'Zul Zula, tried to teach me those things, back in the days, and I learned nothing. But that's another story entirely. Katu'Zul deserves her own story.

That day the camp was silent as we went to sleep, and I dreamed I was with Neph. When I woke up I was disappointed to see he wasn't by my side, and the weight of the reality hit me. I would have to get used to that cold bed for some time.

And so we marched.

The routine was immediately settled. There were a couple of others riding dragonhawks, maybe enough to form a small flight unit. As most of our forces moved by land at a pace that would seem painfully slow, at first we spent most of the day flying over them in large circles. When the sunset started to approach, we would land and follow by foot too. There were some tasks we carried out, sure, but I did those in a state of lethargy, pushed away by inertia. I flew over the party in a large circle, scanning the area for anything that could threaten us. When I spotted a small ogre camp, I immediately flew back to report to Voren'thal, only so he could devise another route to avoid the camp. I felt reduced to a messenger, a scout. Once I delivered the message, I took flight and started it all over again. I mechanically flew over the party, scouted the region ahead, and reported back. Scout and report. Scout and report.

Days went by, indistinguishable from one another.

My mind seemed like a dog chasing its own tail, trapped in an eternal loop so that I wouldn't have to glance to the side and see the source of my suffering, my cold bed, the cold piece of metal that rested on my finger. I just followed along the pack, shuffling pathetically when my feet touched the ground, fading into duty when I was in the skies... I just followed along... I just...

What was I doing?

At some point, I took a fright, so sudden it felt like someone just slapped me in the face. I'm not sure what caused it; maybe some part of me started to really get pissed at myself. All that stupor wasn't fit for a mighty mage like me. I wasn't fit for receiving pity; I wasn't fit to fade into numbness and duty. I could even wonder what Katu'Zul would do if she saw me in this state. She, who taught me what I needed to survive, would come up to me and let out a displeased grunt just before slapping me on the forehead.

"Ya waitin' for pity, moron? Wat is pity worth for?"

Her raspy laugh still echoed in the depths of my mind. If someone in front of me would behave the way I was, I would call him moron and slap him in the face, just like her. My wish for kicking my sorry ass just grew as I noticed that, indeed, pity glances were constantly thrown at me when I landed and dismounted Ala'Nyr at the end of the day. But I guess I now realize what made me break that lethargy, that spell that descended upon me when we left Tempest Keep.

Eventually, as the days went by, one after the other, I tried to take my mind away from my suffering and set my eyes on what was before me. After the desolated view the Netherstorm gave us, even Zangarmarsh seemed beautiful. The soft fluorescence the living beings emitted there painted the fabric of reality with ethereal shades of dreaminess, turning those twilight and pre-dawn moments into jewels of rare beauty, fleeting instants of perfection, impossible to contain. I even wished the sun would take some more time to rise, since most of those beautiful fluorescent beings got into hiding during the day.

But then the sun insinuated itself on the horizon, and one day I truly paid attention to it. I drank on the view. The sun would never truly reach Netherstorm, hanging by the edge of the Twisting Nether, half on this world, half being sucked into the void.

That shard of natural and overwhelming beauty was enough to still my thoughts for a moment, as if I even forgot how beautiful the sunrise could be, the sun slowly painting the sky with gold and blood, while covering the world with its warmth and light. Its power could be felt even before it appeared completely in the horizon; before it could bathe the world with its light and fend off the claws of shadow clutching for my heart.

The sun's warmth had this strange invigorating effect on me, fending off that ridiculous idleness trying to take over my mind. Being surrounded by such natural beauties - and perceiving it - just made me realize how the path we've been trailing seemed unnatural for us. Stealing other's powers, communing with demons - what else could have we done in our moments of despair?

If only Neph was there to see and feel all of that...

My heart started to feel lighter as the so known flame of hope started to burn again. Sometimes I still tried to bury myself into an abyss of self-pity and guilt: I felt guilty over not even trying to argue and make Voren'thal recruit Neph as well. And I despaired, thinking of what could happen to Neph depending on what would happen at Shattrath. If only he was there...

If only...

I started to talk to people again, mostly because we were told not to fly anymore as we approached the borders of Zangarmarsh. I started to live again, and realized that the more distance we put between us and Netherstorm, the less we looked like a raiding party. There was still some underlying tension in the back of our minds, but I now I could even hear some laughing bursting out behind me - or some people engaged into light and meaningless conversations.

There was one particular day that seemed so beautiful that made me think the weather should match the events happening on the ground accordingly: rain and a cloudy, gray sky were more fitting to an assault to a city, rather than that bright, cheerful sun mocking us so peacefully. I was starting to curse the fact that I didn't bring with me a hawkstrider too, since now I was on foot and my feet hurt terribly, when I heard someone sing. It was a long time since I last heard someone sing, and other elves around me seemed equally puzzled, looking around to search for the source of that sweet song.

Voren'thal was humming calmly, sitting upright in his green hawkstrider with all dignity. It was a simple, cheerful and refreshing song - and yet it was enough to make birds ashamed of their plain songs, the elven voice imbued with threads of magic that trembled in the air and propagated softly around him. The elven voice does have some sort of inherent magic, and when it shapes a song, seems like a spell is being weaved. The doubts and darkness still residing in our hearts retreated in the face of such simple sort of magic. An ancient sort of magic, as contagious as Voren'thal's serenity.

It seemed completely inappropriate for a war raid leader to cast such calmness and harmony through something as simple as a song - drums seemed more fitting. War drums and trumpets and...

But that was not fit for us. War drums and displays of strength might bring clans of orcs together; bloodshed and blood sacrifice might unite troll tribes and the Holy Light has the power to unify humans. But we were elves, and what united us since ancient ages - the very source of our existence as a nation - was that kind of brute and innocent magic. We could look back into our history and notice how our darkest days were mostly always the result of our inappropriate use of magic, usually when greed struck and we followed our arrogance. We should have learned, back then.

Someone to Voren'thal's left also started to sing, adding a female voice to the song, making it richer and rounder. And then another elf joined them. And then another, and another. And before we knew it, without any order or command or word, Voren'thal unified the elves into one voice, beautiful beyond measure, taking us to the root of what we really were, or at least what we should have been, since the beginning: that pure and innocent magic. Not that wild and greedy search for power we've been holding - but that hunger for knowledge, for wisdom, for the mysteries of the arcane.

More than ever, that made me recall home. If only Neph was there...

* * *

_"You're quiet," Aiwyn said, glancing to the man, who had been staring at the ceiling for far too long. "You're not sleeping, are you?"_

_"I was just wondering," he answered, after a moment of silence. "If that is what makes mortals so strong. This unity."_

_It was really unusual for her to see him so serious - she couldn't recall ever hearing words so profound from him._

_"A divided Azeroth wouldn't be able to push back the Burning Legion, afterwards..." he continued, and the course the conversation was taking sent a chill through her. Even though he was in her bed right now and seemed reasonably sane, she had to remember his kind had always the seed of madness consuming their minds. That, in spite of his manageable mood, she knew him to be manipulative and unpredictable. That, in spite of the control she claimed to have over him, still an enemy's heart beat within his chest._

_Aiwyn just tried to ignore him and continued._

* * *

Then the landscape started to change, and I realized we were leaving Zangarmarsh behind, with its giant mushrooms and insects, and stepping into Terokkar forest, the region where Shattrath city was located. We were really close now, and if it would seem we were dragging ourselves out of Zangarmarsh, where the trek was a hard, slow struggle, the journey through Terokkar forest was swift and smooth. The trees that welcomed us were tall, their trunks rising straight up in the air, crowned by a modest crown of leaves. But I started to stop paying attention to the forest as we started to approach Shattrath.

We didn't even have the opportunity to set eyes on the city, hidden beyond a curve along the road, when we found our first visitor. For the last time we were setting camp before the attack, gathering by the fire to share a silent meal, when we heard some struggle and agitated voices ahead. Some elves set their meals aside and got up as a couple of elves struggled to bring forth an angry draenei scout close to the fire and hauling him before Voren'thal. His hands were tied to his back, and so when they pushed him forward, he lost balance and fell and buried his face on the ground.

All about the draenei appearance seemed to scream the fact they weren't from our world - or from that shattered world we were at the moment, Outlands. Nor from any world we could ever hope to see. They do have humanoid features, and that one before us, struggling to get up and recover some dignity, had pale blue skin. I noticed that the male ones, like this one, had some sort of fan-like forehead plate; and coming out of their chin and along the jaw-line, almost like a beard, some tendrils in variable number and size. I counted four pairs of thin tendrils on each side of his jaw as he stood up and the light of the bonfire revealed him entirely. He was a bulky one, enough to be a Vindicator, a bit truculent for his kind, known for their peaceful ways and priesthood orders and way of life. He wore full plate armor, only fit for a warrior or paladin, and despite some scratches, he seemed mostly unharmed. He stood up in all his pride, mud in his face and hands tied to his back, facing Voren'thal fiercely as the old elf approached. The draenei had a long, hairless tail and his strong legs capped with solid, massive hooves. He was a fine example of his race, in the zenith of his youth, challenge in his eyes and pride in his posture - he was at least two times the size of Voren'thal, that looked particularly small and old in comparison.

"What's your name?" Voren'thal asked.

There was no answer.

"Do you understand me?" Voren'thal insisted.

"There are no limits to your greed, you filthy scum, are there?" he finally spoke, and in spite of the boldness contained in his words, his eyes flickered at the hostile surroundings, betraying a nervousness otherwise well hidden. I could imagine he wasn't expecting to get out of that situation alive - but planned to take as much elves he could with him. And I bet he could. One of his captors stepped forward.

"We were scouting and saw him coming by the road. He was probably patrolling the surroundings..." he started.

"And I was not the only one," the draenei cut him. There was something about his passion that made me admire him. Most draenei I've seen had a monk-like temper, cool and placid waters easily achieving balance when faced with any external disturbance. That one was like fire. Hot tempered, wild, reckless. And stupid. Just like me.

"Answer me honestly, draenei," Voren'thal asked. "Do you think your companions have seen us? That they know what we are up to?"

"They know there's something going on," he asked fiercely, but it seemed like he was trying to convince himself more than Voren'thal. "They know you're here!"

Voren'thal seemed to ponder over that for a moment. As he approached, he had to look up to look into the captive's eyes. I was fearful the draenei would try something stupid - and Voren'thal... Well, he was our leader in that journey, but he was so frail...

"Then I want you to go back and tell them," the elf said. "Tell your people to prepare, to gather all your warriors and line them out to defend the city. Tell them we're coming with the sunrise."

The draenei just stared at him in disbelief, only able to blink a few times for a moment. Finally, after a moment staring fiercely at Voren'thal, he found some words.

"Is this a trick, elf?" he asked.

"It is not a trick. I believe you've been appropriately disarmed," he glanced to the side and saw one of his captors holding his giant hammer and a few other knives he must have taken from the captive. "You will be released on the road near your city and run straight for it, never look back. You will deliver my message and instruct your people to prepare. Do you understand?"

The draenei still had disbelief and distrust in his eyes, but did not say a word. I believe he was pondering the odds of subjugating his captors, against the weight of the task he had in his hands: even if he killed his captors, he might get hurt or even killed. And if he was killed, who was going to deliver the message? Voren'thal took his silence as an answer and indicated a couple of elves to take him. The warrior's fighting spirit seemed temporarily pacified, dumbfounded, as his mind was too busy trying to find the trap that surely was hiding there; and so he followed along peacefully, more or less.

Once the noises of the draenei's strong steps vanished into the night, I noticed the camp was silent. The fire was crackling, but no one moved or spoke. Finally Voren'thal sighed and turned to the elves surrounding him. All elven eyes were set on him, looking for answers, hoping for a direction. We weren't truly surprised by Voren'thal's action - it fitted him, and it just confirmed my theory that he didn't want to make that a coward's attack. But my theory wasn't completely right.

"I need to tell you something, children," he started, taking a seat and raising his eyes to all of us. Everyone was eagerly drinking on his words, barely breathing. "I should have told you this long ago, but I didn't know if all of you were ready. You are ready now."

Some sort of fatherly pride sparkled in his eyes for a moment, but then he continued.

"I had a vision..."

* * *

_"I still think that, if Neph was there, it would have been so much easier... He would understand, right away, our motives, our purposes."_

_"You spend too much time thinking what would have happened, if only... if only..." the man said, and for some reason he seemed truly annoyed._

_"I know. I even told myself that if he heard everything I had to say, every story, every reason, Voren'thal's vision, everything, and still wanted to stick to the old ways... Then I would make him run away with me, and we'd both be traitors, loyal only to ourselves."_

_"You still are not over him," he said, now irritation stinging in his voice._

_It was true, even though she tried to conceal it, even though she tried to pretend. She walked away, but that didn't mean she..._

_"Why the hell did you stop? Continue!" he asked, and she was thankful he didn't let her fall into that abyss once more. Gladly, she continued._

* * *

As we expected, as Voren'thal wanted, when we reached Shattrath, our welcome was ready. Shattrath was nested by a mountain chain, and even though we could see how it suffered, how it has been so obviously broken, it was imposing in its own way. The draenei architecture is very different, and yet not unusual to us, since the Tempest Keep had been built by draenei hands. It was mostly built with yellowish stones, no doubt strong and solid enough to survive the assaults it has already survived. It was old, with some sort of majesty that only ancient buildings can radiate. The city was a large disc that, in the middle, had a huge temple-like building pointing out to the skies like an arrow. A beam of light escaped and ran free to the skies. At the time, I just wondered what it was, without paying much attention to it.

And instead of running for their lives, there were the draenei. They lined up just beyond a bridge: vindicators, exarchs, priests and mages. Every able-bodied draenei they had. They decided to defend what I would know to be called the Terrace of Light, the inner circle of the city where that temple was located, concentrating their forces there. "It won't be another Kirin'Var" he told me, and so I trusted. And everyone with me trusted Voren'thal as we saw those proud warriors in their finest armor, wielding their most impressive war hammers, ready to die for the city. They were ready, unwavering in their decision to die for their own people, rather than live on without them.

We weren't so different, after all. Didn't we all stand in all stubbornness and pride as the undead raided us? Weren't we ready to die for Silvermoon, for the kingdom of Quel'thelas?

The draenei waited for us to attack. We lined up too, facing their forces as the last prayers were sung and the last protective spells weaved. The sun shone bright on the horizon. It wasn't mocking us; it just knew the truth.

Voren'thal stepped forward, alone. Old, frail and wise Voren'thal, whose serenity guided us so far, stood alone to face the wrath of our enemies. He stopped exactly between the two armies, and I'm sure he was the target of a thousand arrows at that time, ready to fly. In a large and slow gesture, he raised his staff to the height of his shoulders.

And dropped it.

And behind him, the sound of the elves dropping their own weapons spread and echoed, and its crescent cadence sounded to me as the song of redemption; sounded like an approaching wave, washing away the marks of our terrible deeds, washing away our bloody steps. In a moment, there was no one else carrying any sort of weapons on our side of the line. Staves and swords, knives and hammers, all abandoned in the face of our sworn enemy; all laid at the feet of the people we were supposed to exterminate, whose city we were supposed to take. I just let go of my staff, peacefully, but I noticed how some elves threw their weapons to the ground almost eagerly, almost disgusted by it.

Turmoil started to spread on the other side of the line like fire, when the draenei started to look around as if asking for guidance. What's going on? Is this some sort of trick? What should we do? Confusion and doubt, but quite certainly, also hope.

Voren'thal went forward, and for a second I got tense. He could still be hurt, and I even saw how the warriors of the front lines tightened their grip on their weapons and tried to look threatening. But it was all in vain, and when Voren'thal approached, I knew that tranquility he carried eased their fighting spirit, washed away their distrust, put out the fire of battle that was just so briefly lit. They were there to defend the city, not to murder that old, fragile and unarmed elf.

They stepped away, and Voren'thal stormed the Terrace of Light without a single blow. The draenei seemed shocked, giving a free way to that strange elf that just a moment ago seemed ready to lead a raid to take the city. But no one attacked him; no one raised a hand to him, nor uttered a word. Unlike us, the draenei understood of compassion, of redemption and kindness.

I was not there to witness what happened next, but everyone talks about it. It is said that Voren'thal demanded an audience with A'dal. I have been in the presence of A'dal, and it's completely stunning and impressive. They say A'dal belongs to a race they call "naaru", unlike anything I've ever seen. They seem like beings made out of pure light and energy, incalculably old and wise, with some sort of central "heart" where shards of light spin around. A'dal seems like a giant crystal-like being filled with light, imbued with wisdom, and when his words resonate in our minds, our hearts are filled with hope. To receive A'dal's blessing is to receive the purest thing you could have ever hope to get; to behold upon him was to behold upon unending beauty. His presence was warm, gentle, kind...

A'dal reminded me of the Sunwell.

It is said that when A'dal showed himself, Voren'thal, the Seer, advisor to our Prince, knelt down in front of him and said:

"I've seen you in a vision, naaru. My race's only hope lies with you. My followers and I are here to serve you."

And thus, we were accepted - hesitantly, still distrusted - by the city we had sworn to take. We were accepted by our enemies and we accepted them, not because we wanted to, but because we needed to. We would need each other to overcome the dark days that would follow, foreseen not only by Voren'thal, but by other seers and sages spread out through that world.

I hoped A'dal could provide us the healing we needed, and when I first stood in his presence, I was sure he could.

The draenei didn't pretend to like us and neither did we pretend to like them in turn, but we did our best to make our coexistence peaceful. As much as it could be, of course. We still struggled behind the curtains, but not with weapons. We fought for A'dal's attention and admiration, for his blessings and love.

Thus the order of the Scryers was born.

* * *

_"Traitors," he whispered softly on her ear, and it sounded like the hissing of a snake about to attack. "Betraying your Prince, your people, consorting with the enemy..."_

_"If we have to carry the tittle of 'traitors' for staying on the side of the living, instead of choosing to walk among demons, I don't mind," Aiwyn replied softly. The accusations of treason didn't bother her anymore - she already accepted them, almost proudly._

_The man seemed disappointed to notice it didn't affect her the way he wanted to. Questioning her honor didn't seem to sting her, not even a little bit, even though it would probably hurt an honorable human or orc. With a failed attempt at provoking her, he let out a grumpy grunt and laid back._

_"I can't believe you just left your fiancé that easily," he said. And against his expectations, that did hurt._

_"I didn't," she said in a whisper, almost as if she didn't want him to listen. But he noticed her hesitation on continuing the story, and that just lighted up his interest._

_"What happened? What did you do?" he asked._

_"The only thing that could be expected of me," she answered, still avoiding his gaze. "I did something stupid."_


	6. Chapter Five: Depression

Trying to prevent me from doing something stupid was like trying to prevent the sun from shining. My Master's wisdom would try to keep me on the right way, but eventually I would wander off. It is my nature.

A lifetime ago, I was used to waking up with a shaft of sunlight hitting my face, the birds singing and the noise of the city coming from the open window. No birds were singing now, and a drift of cold wind found its way beneath my sheets, making me curl into a ball and pull the covers around me tightly. A lifetime ago I would wake at Silvermoon in my own warm bed, in my own home - that scent of herbs and potions, of hot and spiced infusions - and this seemed nothing but a poor imitation of that, a bad illusion of my dream of coming back to the time before the fall.

Once again I was awakened by the sun - a cold and pale sun, not warm enough to dissipate the shivers of the night from my freezing bed. I blinked in the light as I sat up and looked around. The first days were confusing to me, and I usually had to take a couple of minutes to look around and take in my surroundings as understanding slowly sank into my sleepy mind. I sighed, the same way I did every morning there, the moment I realized that wasn't the cozy and warm room of my childhood. I couldn't see my chaotic self in that room of naked walls and its few, simple pieces of furniture. My warm nature tended to own the place I would take as a nest, but this could have easily been the bedroom of a stranger - an outsider.

And as far as I knew, it was the bedroom of a stranger. I slid out of my bed and shuffled to stand before the small cracked mirror I'd hung on the wall, and the story it told me was the same as the day before: the reflection showing the tiny chamber of a pale elf with discrete dark circles under her eyes. The clothes seemed just a bit larger than the last time she'd worn them, and she had all the signs of a person who wasn't sleeping well. Or eating.

I tried pinching my cheeks to bring some color to the pale face in the mirror. I kept telling myself I looked paler because of the black and golden tabard I'd traded for the red and golden one. I wore the Scryers' tabard willingly, and at a certain point, with pride, but the change was certainly taking a toll on me. We surely couldn't have the same extremely luxurious life we had at Tempest Keep, but on top of that, I forced myself to a greater work load.

Once I made myself presentable enough to be seen by other people, braided hair and new tabard, I headed outside to get something to eat. The soft, lush red carpet muffled my footsteps as I took a good look at our recently finished base through the refreshing morning light. The building of the Scryers' Tier was done in a couple of days of our arrival in the city - it was now a small red and gold elven nest with the elegance and greatness we would never give up. The same magic that had allowed us to rebuild our beloved Silvermoon nearly overnight, made it possible for us to bring a piece of our essence to the Broken City in a matter of a few days.

But there was still something missing. Someone.

I trapped myself in my daily chores, working for the Scryers as a master alchemist. And if people would call me obsessed and feverish about my work, they wouldn't be wrong. As I entered my small, empty laboratory, I began my ritual: lighting the boilers; taking flasks and books out of the shelves; bringing them all to where my open notebook rested. My working place was a sturdy wooden table filled with alchemical utensils, pots and herbs, and I would rarely leave it during the day. I spent hours in front of that table, brewing potions and extracting oils, researching and testing. Alchemy was a part of me as much as magic itself, and now this perfectly set, focused and neat routine kept me sane, bringing some reasoning and logic to my mind. Sometimes I was surprised to notice the sun was already setting, while other times I spent so much time without eating anything that my vision got blurred.

I tried to make sure my days would go by fast, but eventually something happened to break the steadiness of one day after the other, every morning so similar to the one before.

The sun was already sinking to the horizon and I still was at my lab, trying to focus while my eyes insisted on sending me blurred images of my notes. A loud growl startled me, but as I looked around I realized it was only my stomach making yet another complaint. Reluctantly, I finally complied and took a break for a snack. It was while I was spitting out some pieces of pages I accidentally swallowed along with my sandwich - again - that Voren'thal showed up. I wish I could say this didn't happen so often, but I can't; either way, I didn't want the elder to see me like that. Trying to retain some dignity, I swallowed it all and tried to look excited for the elder.

"Voren'thal!" I got away from my table to show him some of my chaotic notes. "I think I managed to get what you requested. I'll only need some extra ingredients... I know where to get them, maybe tomorrow I can go out to search for them and start brewing the potion you want."

The older elf merely glanced at my notes, and even though he looked pleased, there were more wrinkles of concern in his forehead than appreciation in his smile.

"You're working too hard," he told me as he returned the notes. "I worry about you, child."

There was a moment of silence, as his warm gaze wandered from the dark circles under my eyes to my fuzzy braided hair, and I felt guilty for leaving him worried. He'd never seen me with such a bad appearance before, and his fatherly concern left me so embarrassed I tried to stand up straighter and more confident.

"There's nothing to worry about. I just get a bit carried away by my research," I said, and it wasn't entirely a lie, but I quickly fled the subject. "Did you need something, Voren'thal?" I asked.

"Actually, yes," he started, slowly. "Some draenei patrols returned a couple of hours ago. They got attacked and remain at the infirmary for healing - but the healers are exhausted," he said, and I almost didn't notice the hesitation before he continued. "Would you be a dear and take some potions to the infirmary? I know some of us are having a hard time with the Aldor, but I must insist we assist them whenever we can. Besides, a bit of fresh air will do you good."

"I take lots of fresh air during the evening, Voren'thal," I said. "You don't need to worry about me."

It was hard to refuse a request from the elder, so I went outside to find myself a robust gryphon - Ala'Nyr had gotten really mad at me, drowning in jealousy, but she wasn't robust enough for the load I was taking with me - and strapped a couple of crates filled with potions to its saddle. Voren'thal's request seemed completely ordinary for me, but I suspect he wanted me to go for other reasons. At that time, however, nothing like that crossed my mind.

I took flight, and took in the whole sight of the Broken City by the morning light. Shattrath has the shape of a circle or disc, the streets displayed in circles from the center. There were four bridges spreading outward from the inner circle of the city - the Terrace of Light - that went over the outer circle. This outer circle, at a lower level than the rest of the city, stood as a shadowy cleft of ruins, home of refugees, wounded and outcasts. The Lower City, my destination.

As I turned my eyes to the center of the city, I could feel A'dal's blessed magic and raised my hand to my heart, bowing my head almost imperceptibly in a respectful gesture he would never see. The temple, in the middle of Shattrath, radiated the respect and awe given by time to great buildings - the heart of the City of Light, still whole, was almost enough to make people's eyes ignore what was down below. The Lower City was the real Broken City. Ruins, tents and improvised buildings. Shuffling feet and wary eyes. Some original buildings survived - like the tavern, ironically - but the new buildings were pieces of patchwork sewed together. I've come to see with my own eyes creatures I only heard about before, nested at the deepest and darkest places of that sanctuary. For Shattrath is a sanctuary city and embraces everyone seeking for protection and healing, regardless of race. It was a magnet of outcasts of every single race there was in Outlands, from the boring and plain humans to the intriguing and mysterious bird men, the Arakkoa.

By then, I knew my way through the Lower City very well and flew smoothly to the infirmary. From the distance I could tell there was something wrong, as the usual silence and peace that took that street was replaced by turmoil and angry shouts. The ruins of a building were used for the wounded to rest and recover - since it didn't have a ceiling anymore, white sheets were attached from the remaining wall to the other, giving some protection to whoever was inside. But most of the healing was done outside, in the streets, and the general tension and restlessness I got as I landed was not normal for the infirmary.

A draenei woman with the looks of a priestess came out of the building and approached me as I guided the gyphon and tied its reins to a pillar. The streets were crowded, but all I could see so far were some draenei warriors and Vindicators, along some angry voices.

"A load of potions," I explained to the confused priestess. "Voren'thal hears you need help. I got some healing potions for the wounded, and some mana potions for the healers."

The woman gave me a warm smile, some sort of short lived relief taking her features before she could focus on her task again.

"It seems like some of you are not so bad," she said as she helped me unload the potions. "Your elder seems like a reasonable person."

"He is," I answered, although a bit distracted by the noisy crowd at the street, stretching my neck to see beyond the tall, bulky draenei warriors, as I unloaded my cargo. "What is happening there?"

The priestess made a sound that made me think she was trying to snort politely - if there was such a thing - setting the last crate of potions on the ground, and sighing.

"You guys," she started, crouching by the boxes to examine the content. "You guys seem to bring nothing but trouble for anyone."

"I thought we were talking about how nice we were," I said. "What do you mean?"

"Our scouts had quite the fight with a group of elves that showed up in the surroundings," the priestess continued, picking up one of the crates to bring inside the building. "Stragglers."

Stragglers. The meaning of that didn't immediately sink into my distracted mind, but slowly the pieces fell into their places and my heart beat rose. We were traitors, and word of our treason must have reached Tempest Keep. Stragglers... following us? People who supported us and were left behind?

Could it be...?

My feet started to move before I could articulate my thought, as if moved by hope. And my heart ached with yearning, wishing so hard to find him among the newcomers that every other thought temporarily fled my mind. I slid through the crowd with the ease a snake slides through the grass, and when I felt something in my chest seemed about to explode, I reached the scene of the main event, more than excited when I saw some new, elven pointy ears there. People left a clearing in the middle of the street, keeping distance from the few figures inside it, like a regular street brawl. But there was no one cheering, only a couple of brave idiots trying to prevent the fight from happening.

Most of the angry words belonged to a furious - and wounded - draenei I recognized as the stormy warrior we caught and released when we marched upon the city. He was the main responsible for making such a scene look like a cock fight, with two other draenei warriors as big as himself trying to restrain him, as he barked words of hatred. The target of his anger was a newcomer, a male blood elf apparently unharmed, wearing black and a confidant, mocking, irritating smile. I gave the fight a mere glance as my eyes were looking for someone more important, someone I needed to be there.

But my hope died as I soon realized Neph didn't come with this group of runaways. There was the elf in black, a dark haired elven maiden next to him and two or three more groups of elves, a bit far away from the fight, talking in whispers, with scared looks in their faces. I saw some crowns of golden hair among them and spent more time than was sensible searching, hoping, expecting my tall, broad shouldered man to be hiding behind a small and shy weakling. But he wasn't, no matter how much I looked. And when disappointment came, a wave of bad thoughts intruded my mind.

Why Neph didn't come? Was he being held? Was he in trouble because of me?

The most obvious question didn't come. Did he want to come?

Paralyzed by disappointment and hopelessness, I eventually realized the fight went on, despite myself. Despite my suffering, my angst, my pain, they continued as if I didn't exist. The world didn't stop spinning, it didn't crack open - at least not for them. And despite myself, rage started to bubble in my stomach. Tears could have seemed more appropriate for that moment, but wrath was easier for me.

"THIEF!" the draenei roared, barely contained by his brothers of arms. "How dare you ask sanctuary, you worthless thief?"

"You're mistaken, my friend," said the elf in black, with that smile I learned to hate. "Whatever you're talking about, it must have fallen when you buried your head on the ground..."

They were so noisy and their quarrel seemed so unimportant, whatever it was...

"Stop it, Thelius, please," pleaded another blood elf, a young newcomer. She approached the angry draenei with caution. "Don't listen to him, I'm sorry about that. Please, let me help healing you, I can..."

If only they would shut up...

"I don't need help from you!" he said, disgusted, waving her out of the way as easily as flies are swept by a wind whirl. "You DARE touch me, and I'll-"

"SHUT IT!" I yelled with all the strength my lungs could gather, and perhaps I had underestimated the power of my rage. All my frustration, angst and sadness were converted to a rage-filled scream and then directed to an unaware victim. My magic reacted to my rage, and I felt irradiating a wave of arcane power, great enough to send chills up one's spine and make their hearts forget beating for a moment. With the corner of the eye I saw the parchment paper someone was holding burst out in flames, while a flask spontaneously exploded in the hands of other person. A child started crying somewhere. This reminded me of the saying: When a peasant has his moods, he kicks the dog; when a mage has his moods, a town disappears. I felt all heads of the surroundings turning to me, and a heavy silence covered the scene, the fight nearly forgotten. People had already told me how they felt like children being scolded by their mother when I reprimanded them, and sometimes I believe it. When I stepped forward I saw the draenei warrior couldn't find his rage, and even Thelius forgot his mocking smile for a moment. I turned to the angry draenei.

"If you want to keep that pride, step aside and don't be a burden for those trying to do something good here, but if you're the example of righteousness we are supposed to follow, you've got nothing to blame us for," I began, and as the wheels started to spin, I could see his rage blooming again. "Your Elder expects that from you."

The draenei stood up, and besides the fact there was an angry, beefy warrior at least twice my size towering over me, with fire in his eyes and hatred in his huge fists, it was kinda funny. He was puffing his chest and standing straight, making himself as big as he could get, and that was impressive - but I couldn't stop comparing him to a cock preparing to fight or a puffer fish swelling so much he seemed about to explode.

For all I knew, if he decided to take a good swing at me, I was done. But it was one of those rare occasions where Fate was at my side.

"Krayel!" I heard a powerful roar, the kind of deep voice tailored to command, and it was followed by the authoritative figure of a Vindicator. I didn't need to see the way people got out of his path or lowered their eyes to understand his influence. He was a Leader, someone used of having people's trust - and lives - in his hands, and bear the consequences of that. His skin tone was a bit lighter, his armor shone as if it had Light on its own and his presence seemed to neutralize all violent emotions, like small pebbles are swallowed by the sea without affecting the waves.

There was something familiar in him. I soon learned his name was Azluun, Vindicator, some sort of commander - I didn't bother to understand their hierarchy. He started to speak in that foreign and slightly harsh language of the draenei, and though it didn't sound like he was giving Krayel a scolding, his face turned red out of embarrassment and forced his wrath out of him through a heavy panting. Though Azlunn wasn't physically between us, it felt like his mere presence was enough to hold Krayel's fists.

A small discussion followed, not with angry voices anymore, but still in that weird language. I turned to the remaining curious crowd and hissed.

"What are you looking at? Be gone with you! Don't you have something better to do? Shoo!"

Hesitantly, the crowd started to dissipate and slowly go back to what they were doing before. The group of newcomers remained together, and though they weren't fatally wounded, most of them were beaten up and tired - except Thelius, absolutely unharmed.

"Excuse me, elf...?"

After he was done with Krayel, Azluun turned to me. I realized I was afraid of facing him, so I spoke up before he could.

"I am sorry for this mess. I'll take the elves to the Scryers' Tier so that your scouts can recover peacefully."

"Would you-"

"I assure you this won't happen again," I said. "At least if I can help it."

Turning to the group of elves, I volunteered to take them to the Scryers' Tier to get some healing and rest, grabbed Thelius' arm and quickly left.

That was the first time I saw Azluun.

When we were back at the Scryer's tier, while other elves approached to greet the newcomers, I took the arm of the elf girl that tried to heal Krayel. She took fright and squealed at my firm grip.

"What was that all about? Why was the draenei so pissed at Thelius?" I asked, so bluntly it was a little rude.

The girl shrugged under the weight of my interrogation, hesitating a moment.

"Uh... He said Thelius took something from him, but Thelius denied it," the girl said. "And no one saw hi-"

That was good enough for me. I let go of the girl and quickly located Thelius talking to two other members of the Scryers. They all knew of my temper, so despite chuckling a bit at Thelius, none of them seemed to find it unusual when I grabbed the front of his vest and dragged him away from them, without uttering a word.

"Whoa, calm down!" he started as I brought him to an empty corridor. "I always knew you had a crush on me, babe, but shouldn't we be a bit more discrete?"

Once we were alone, I let go of him and faced him with arms tightly crossed.

"Give it back," I commanded.

"I'm sorry, what?" he answered, failing to look confused. How I hated that smug smile... My patience was so short I had to take a deep breath before continuing.

"Thelius, I would sooner believe a demon than believe you," I started. "So you better give it back what you took from that draenei idiot, or else I'll make sure you never get anywhere near my lab and spend your days here scrubbing the floor with your tongue."

"You're not that important here, Aiwyn," he answered, mocking my threat.

"And you might have had your way around Lord Sanguinar, but not around Voren'thal," I replied. "The moment he sniffs trouble between you and the draenei, you won't be trusted for anything more important than dusting shelves."

He hesitated a moment, and even though his smile never faded, I heard the wheels spinning in his head. I would have loved to threaten to set his head on fire, but that didn't work with Thelius. He wanted to be in the middle of the things, maybe not in the spotlight, but behind it - and he knew he wouldn't be getting anywhere if he didn't have Voren'thal's appreciation.

"Bah, you're so boring," he ended up saying, throwing me something that hit my face. I almost let it fall to the ground before taking it in my hands. It was a small charm, like a bracelet. When I raised my eyes to give Thelius another scolding, he was already gone.

By then I already foresaw it right: Thelius would still haunt me and bother me to no end.

After twilight, there were no chores to chain my mind, and so it wandered free through dark fields of bad omens and nightmares, always darker than the nights before. Most of my dusks were spent in the streets, as I would let my feet take me wherever they wanted, taking my body to exhaustion so that when my head would hit the pillow, no dreams would come.

I wandered. Alone, I would wander and often find myself at places I'd never seen. I wandered through the Lower City, without truly paying attention to my path. I wandered, feeling and looking like a mindless undead, endlessly searching for a song to fill my heart. But my nights were silent, despite all the noise in my head.

When I thought it couldn't get any worse, I realized that what really was bringing me down wasn't my beloved's mere absence, but the reason behind it. Disturbing questions haunted me. Could it be he didn't want to come? Could it be he didn't take the right path?

Could it be...?

The second time I met with Azluun was the day after Thelius and that group of blood elves arrived. He was watching over the training of some draenei warriors, and I waited patiently from a distance. When he dismissed them, I approached.

"Blood elf," he greeted me with a bow. "It's good to see you again. You seemed in a hurry yesterday."

Before saying anything, I reached out and gave him the small charm, resembling a rustic piece of jewelry with creamy pearl-like beads. Azluun shot me an interrogatory look.

"I believe it belongs to the hot-headed one. Krayel, was it?" I said as he took the charm. Azluun had a thoughtful look on his stern face as he turned the small charm on his big hands, and while the gesture made me think he was weighing the beads value, it felt as if he was weighing my actions and words.

"So your friend did take this from Krayel," he finally said softly, in that gentle and deep voice of a fair judge. His eyes were intense.

"He's not my friend," I quickly explained. "He is my burden now."

"How did you manage to get him to return it?" he asked.

"I didn't hurt him, if that's what you're concerned about." Only threatened, I thought. "Even though he deserved it."

Azluun smiled, and for the first time I relaxed briefly in his presence. He put away the charm, but his attention remained on me. The more I stared at him, the louder something in the back of my mind screamed; there was something in his features that was terribly familiar.

"You don't seem to enjoy him," he stated, slowly. "If you're giving this to me, does this mean I'm supposed to return it to Krayel?"

"If you would, please," I said. "I get the feeling he doesn't like me."

To my surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. Slowly, my mind made a link - a connection so disturbing I tried to erase it from my memory right away, fearing the draenei standing before me could feel the nature of my thoughts. I tried to smile.

"It's a shame you and Krayel started off with the wrong foot. I believe you two would give people a lot of trouble together," he continued, with a tender smile. "Are you frightened, my lady? No need for that. We are no longer enemies."

"I'm not afraid!" I answered, perhaps a bit too heatedly. "And I don't need anyone with me to give people some trouble." I said it with some pride, since it was true.

Again, Azluun threw his head back to have a good laugh.

"Of course you don't. You're just like my little brother," he said, and I felt my guts freezing, my smile almost sliding down my face. "He was Krayel's best friend. They gave me the most terrible headaches."

"'Was'? What happened to him?" I asked before I could contain my tongue. There was no need to ask - I knew what happened. But Azluun's smile didn't fade, despite the fondness he had for his brother, evident in those few words.

"War," he said. "War happened."

We happened, I thought. With a few more pleasantries, I fled the conversation.

I knew Thelius, and I already hated him. Everytime he smiled, I had to fight the urge of trying to pull out all his white teeth, one by one. So smug, so annoying.

And to make things worse, he became my personal burden. After all, he was a Master of Poisons, and I was the Master of Alchemy, and he needed my laboratory, my ingredients and tools. So, I had to endure his presence, day after day. I tried to focus on my research, rarely taking my eyes away from my books and notes, trying to forget his existence. He used the table as his shield, working on the farthest end of it from where I was brewing and studying, but there was no way I could shield myself from his voice.

"Is it just me," Thelius began randomly during the afternoon of our first day of work together. "Or was the look you gave that big draenei quite... meaningful?"

Only his voice was enough to disrupt my peace like that.

"I remember your face when he stepped in," I replied, trying to remain calm. "I bet that, at that time, if he had asked you to get down on your knees and-"

"What would Neph'Alor think?" he continued, ignoring me. The sound of my beloved's name on his tongue sounded just wrong. "I wonder..."

When I raised my eyes to him, I felt it wouldn't take much for me to make his brain explode just by wishing it.

"Don't. Thelius, just... don't."

"It was a surprise for everyone, you know? The treason, I mean," he showed me a smile that was meant to seem innocent, but failed. "But for your fiancee it was... it was... Well, I assume he still thinks you were taken against your will."

Thelius seemed to be voicing the fears I wouldn't dare. He liked to provoke and taunt, and his words were as precise and sharp as his daggers.

"Thelius..."

"And on top of that, there's this draenei now, like a paladin in shinning armor."

"Nothing happened be-"

"He is very loyal to you, you know?" he showed me a satisfied grin. "He gives no other woman a second glance."

"Shut up, Thelius..."

"Almost as loyal as he is to our Prince," he kept on talking. "Maybe even more!"

I realized my hands were curled in tight fists, messing and tearing up my notes.

"I heard him talking one night to that weird friend of his, before all of this" Thelius said. "He was talking about making a surprise for you. He was promoted, you know? Prince Kael'thas seems very interested in him."

And I knew that the closer he was to our Prince, the harder it would be...

"He is rising in the eyes of the Prince. His friend was even concerned that his affiliation with you would taint his image before-"

I had enough. There was an alcohol flask before me, and then there wasn't - the next thing I know is that it was flying in his direction. But that bastard was quick, and easily dodged the flask that exploded on the wall behind him.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" I yelled at him, losing it entirely.

"I work here," he said, before being forced to get down to avoid another flask. "Okay, I got it!"

He headed out gracefully in two large jumps, avoiding a third flying tool from hitting his head. Even when he was out of sight, I heard his laugh echoing through the corridor and then in my mind, mocking my fear and hopelessness. And when I realized, I had my face on my hands.

That was a particularly dark and melancholic night, as I found myself lost at Lower City in the company of a bottle of wine and a street cat. It's as pathetic as it sounds, I assure you. Even more for the fact I wasn't intoxicated, the wine forgotten by my side. I climbed to the top of some ruins and sat, laid my head back and closed my eyes, breathing in deeply to clear my mind, listening to the purring of the cat rubbing at my ankles. My mind was exhausted, trying desperately to find the way through a maze that would lead me to Neph. Soon I realized that reaching out for him wasn't hard, but rather coming back. I needed to make him walk the same path out of the maze - out of that golden cage - that I did. That was hard, and what Thelius told me had left me fearful and hopeless.

The cat started meowing and added to the noise in my head, so that's probably the reason I didn't notice the footsteps and the armor clinging.

"Lady elf?" I heard someone calling me, when my head was already exploding with bad thoughts.

"Leave me alone," I answered promptly.

"This is a dangerous place for a lady," the stranger continued - only it wasn't a stranger. I opened my eyes when I recognized that deep voice belonged to Azluun.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in a somewhat rude tone. He didn't seem to bother.

"I'm going home. I was at the tavern having a drink," he explained. Despite the fact I was sitting on top of the ruins, he was so tall that our eyes were on the same level. He seemed amused by my surprised face and chuckled. "What? Don't you think I drink?"

"You don't strike me as a..." I started, but then realized I didn't know how to continue. Instead, I changed the subject. "Where's the tavern? Which direction, I mean? I'm kinda lost."

Azluun shook his head at that.

"What? It is not proper for a young innocent lady to drink alone so late at night. Come, I'll take you back to the Scryers' Tier," he said. I let out an exasperated sigh.

"I'm not a lady, and I am not innocent," I hissed at him, but my rage didn't even move his will an inch. He crossed his arms and just stood there, his will unwavering, still like a rock. His wasn't the stubborness of a wrathful, wild bull, with eyes locked in the target and murderous intentions - his was the patience of a mountain, unbending, resolute and eternal.

I wasn't going anywhere arguing with him, so I jumped to the ground and started walking again, trying to remember the path I took to get there. I could hear him following me, even though he left a respectful distance.

"Your name is Aiwyn, isn't it?" he asked. He had no trouble following my hushed pace, his long steps covering as much ground as three of my own. "I heard you're the alchemist for the Scryers. You might want to turn left here."

I turned left, grumbling a bit.

"Your name is Azluun," I said. "Some kind of commander, I heard. Did you return that thing to the warrior, Krayel?"

"Yes, I did. He is quite fond of that charm. One of his nieces made it for him," he said, seeming amused by something. "And yes, I'm 'some kind' of commander," he completed, chuckling lightly.

"Don't you have something more important to do than picking on me?" I asked.

"At this very moment, no," he said. "I've seen you roaming the streets late at night quite a few times. What are you looking for? What's wrong?"

"Everything is wrong," I started, and it briefly crossed my mind that I don't usually confess my angst that easily, but perhaps I just needed that too much. "We betrayed our Prince, our way of life is damning us, we don't know what awaits for us in our future..."

"And you forged an alliance with the enemy,"Azluun completed. "I'd advise you taking the second entrance here."

"That's not what's bothering me."

"What is it, then?" he asked.

It was Neph. For the last years he's been the constant in my life, my compass and consort, the foundation upon which I built my expectations for my life. And now I feared he'd be dammed, that compass pointing at the wrong direction. But I said none of that, and Azluun kept a respectful silence that remained until I finally spotted the entrance of the Scryers' Tier at the distance.

"I believe you can find your way from here," Azluun said as he stopped. I stopped too and turned to see him give me a slight bow. "Good night, lady elf."

I almost called him back to thank me for showing the way, but instead just watched him walk away and dissappear, the sound of his footsteps fading slowly into the night.

After that, I met Azluun again. And again, and again. At first, our encounters were the result of the hatred between our factions - not a common thing to unite two people.

"It's the third time this week, my lady. We really should stop meeting like this," Azluun said with a slight bow and gentle smile. I could almost feel he was chuckling inside, so I simply rolled my eyes at him and turned to a couple of blood elves with a deep scowl.

"What were you idiots thinking?" I yelled at them. One of them had his head back, his nose still bleeding, while the other just tried to make himself go unoticed. "You think Voren'thal likes having to send me here to round you up like children?!"

Now Azluun was definitely chuckling behind me.

"Ekalia has a really good right hook," he said calmly.

"You got lucky the girl only wanted to rearrange your face," I kept on hissing at the elf. "If you decided to pick on a guy, we'd be scraping your brains from the walls! Or whatever it is that you got inside your head! Why are just standing there? Come on! Off with you! Voren'thal will want to scold you too."

When they started walking away, I turned to Azluun with a deep sigh and a don't-fuck-with-me look imprinted on my forehead. He just smiled and bowed again.

"Until next time, Aiwyn."

Next time turned out to be in a tavern, when he paid me a snack and drank my wine to prevent me from drinking it. The night after that, he actually taught me a drinking game, cheerfully admitting the contradiction of his actions.

"First, you take a coin," he was saying. "And an empty glass. You have to make the coin hit the balcony and jump inside the glass. Got it?"

"You can't play this game near a goblin," I said. "Once you let go of the coin, you will never see it again. What if I get it right?"

"Then I have a drink," he said. "If I get it right, you will have a drink. Don't worry, I'll take it easy on you. An elven maiden like yourself shouldn't be drinking anything stronger than wine."

Next day I woke up fully dressed in my own bed, with my hair wrapped around my brush and completely hung over. I could only assume I lost the game the night before and that Azluun's "take it easy" meant something else. On that evening, I taught him one of the games I liked. He didn't buy any drinks for a few days after that one.

And despite the glances of disaproval shot at us, the constant bickering between blood elves and draenei, both of us seemed to be stubborn enough to insist on creating something quite unusual for that moment and place in history: a friendship between former enemies, with the wounds of the conflict still open and bleeding. Perhaps this might give you the wrong idea we struggled for this to happen, but that's not true. It happened suddenly, smoothly, like a cat breaking into your house - you only realize it is there, and the next moment it feels there's something wrong if the cat doesn't come to sleep on your feet.

Whenever Azluun would drop that heavy mantle of leadership and duty, a much lighter person emerged. His burdens and fears stripped away, the apprehension of being in the presence of an authority would vanish as he would become the kind of person that laughs loudly over a mug of beer. His men didn't just respect him - they loved him, and it reminded me a bit of our relationship with Voren'thal. But Azluun, despite being as old as our elder, gave me a feeling of a younger spirit, lighter and still hopeful. Someone you could talk to on the same level, someone who would laugh over obscenities and play drinking games.

And he truly seemed to have the Light in his heart, as he spoke with words of wisdom and hope that slowly started to relieve my heart of the dark knots I made, leaving me much lighter and even... hopeful. I even caught myself talking about Neph to him, and only at that moment I realized how much I lowered my defenses and inhibitions to him, talking about the person I cherished the most in the world. Despite my crescent despair regarding the fate of my beloved, Azluun made me believe it was worth hoping for better days.

"It is remarkable, you know?" he told me once, with a dreamy look in his eyes and gentle smile. "I never even dared to hope of having this kind of conversation with one of your kind, and yet here we are. Never be afraid of dreaming and hoping."

On that day, I almost told him I knew his brother. It crawled up my throat, burning on its way, but I managed to swallow it back. Almost.

Thelius kept on being a pain in my ass, now dividing his days between using my lab to brew his poisons and sparring, training his combat skills with someone else. I had to start throwing books at him, or else there would be no flasks left for us to use for working. Whenever I could, I would send him away to gather ingredients, but I also noticed how his taunting and venomous words started to bother me less and less. Those were a good, few and kinder days that made me feel as if I was in the middle of the healing process of a sickness. This blind ambition, ruthlessness and greed that took our hearts since the fall of our kingdom was the sickness that would damn us all if we didn't do something. But I was only interested in healing one single person.

And now I believed I could do it. When the opportunity came, I immediately recognized it and plunged teeth and nails on it, afraid I could let it go.

I was coming back one of those evenings and on my way back to my room, when an annoyed voice came floating to my ears. It wouldn't have caught my attention if it wasn't Thelius' voice, so I stopped. I never saw him upset in any way, so it was intriguing to realize he sounded like a vexed kid - not to mention satisfying.

"But I can be useful, I know..." he kept on saying before being cut of.

"You'll be more useful here, Thelius," came a voice I knew to belong to Voren'thal. "You don't have a good image before the Aldor to work with them. You're not going to Area 52."

Area 52? I knew that place - it was a goblin city. Most goblin territory was neutral, and I always thought it was because that way they could deal with both Alliance and the Horde. Bloody mercenaries. But despite that, Area 52 was located at Netherstorm - at Tempest Keep's doorstep.

Thelius stepped out Voren'thal's study chamber and shot me a quick glance before walking away, with no smug smile, no sharp words. I approached and knocked at the door-post of the open chamber.

"Voren'thal? May I have a word?"

It was with a much lighter pace, in a much more beautiful night, that I found myself at the tavern looking for Azluun. He was alone by the counter, with a mug the size of a bucket in front of him.

"Rough day?" I asked as I took a look into his mug. A dark drink with a perfumed foam was spinning inside. "What's that? Can I have a taste?"

"Good evening to you too, Aiwyn," he greeted me as he put the mug out of my reach. "My day was great, actually."

"So that is just for chilling out? I wonder what you drink when you're stressed out," I said as I took a seat beside him.

"Water," he answer. "Never drink when you're in trouble, just when your life is good and there's reason to celebrate. Otherwise that's a path that can lead straight to addiction - and it won't solve your problem either way."

"Sounds reasonable," I said. "Drinking your sorrow away looks more like running from it."

"Precisely. Which takes us to the next level," he said, turning to the barmaid. "A cup of wine for the elven maiden here, please."

I stared back at him in disbelief.

"You seem to be in a good mood today," he explained. "I never saw you so bright. Got any good news?"

I hesitated a bit, since I planned on dropping the news smoothly.

"Actually, yes," I started. "Have you heard they plan to set a post at Area 52?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "Both Scryers and Aldor working together. That is a lot of ground for trouble, as you know," he said before taking a good gulp of his drink and looking at me. "You mean to tell me you're going too?"

"Of course I am," I said with a smile. "I'll leave anyone but Thelius in charge of the alchemy lab and hope to never see his face again."

"But you're not that happy just because you won't work with him anymore," he said, and as I turned to him I saw a wrinkle of concern on his forehead. For a moment I feared he knew what I was planning, and that he would try to stop me.

"I want to be useful. I know how all the mana forges work, their weaknesses..." I started.

"You'll also be close to Tempest Keep," he said. I waved that fact away.

"Are you worried I'm gonna betray the Scryers?" I laughed at that possibility, but that didn't seem to ease his worries - if anything, his concern was more evident.

"Be careful, Aiwyn. Don't do anything stupid," he said, and I felt my will shaking at the plea in his voice. Perhaps his experience managing Krayel gave him a good idea what I was capable of; perhaps he already knew I was about to do something reckless and unprecedented. And yet he didn't seem to want to confront me directly, and I wasn't sure if that was a sign of the faith he put in me, or if he had other reasons.

After a moment of silence, he shook his head and gave me a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Either way, I wish you luck on this new quest, my friend," he said, touching his giant mug in my cup of glass as a toast. "And don't drink too much. You don't want to trade one addiction for another."

As I stared at my glass of wine, untouched, something suddenly became clear in my head. And it was so serious, so vital and important that I had no idea how it slipped through my mind for so long. It was so central since the beginning, so critical that you may call it the first engine of this whole operation - deep down, the reason of it all, the treason, the suffering.

"Azluun..." I said slowly, still a bit dumbfounded.

"Hm?"

"I haven't tapped on any source of magic since I got here," I said, looking at my hands. They were firm and still. "And I've had no withdrawal symptoms."

Now his smile was true, and he even laughed at my face - no doubt I must have looked like a child finding the gifts under the tree at Winter Veil night.

"You said you took a potion everyday for this purpose, didn't you?" he said. "Although I believe it must also have something to do with A'dal."

"A'dal?" I asked, even though I thought I already knew what he meant.

"Perhaps you're feeding off A'dal's magic without even knowing it. You elves seem to passively draw the magic energy of great sources nearby," he explained. "It might be like..."

"Like what happened when we had the Sunwell," I completed. "How do you know all of that?"

"I'm simply a good observer. And listener," he stated, shrugging. "But if you allow me to say... at least A'dal's magic is of the purest kind. No harm will come to you for tasting a piece of his Light."

I was still trying to wrap my mind around that and didn't even realize I was smiling. For a couple of days, another feeling was nesting in my chest, making me feel lighter, brighter. Knowing that the healing we were seeking was also possible was relieving, as an indication that we were on the right track.

I was hopeful, for the first time in weeks.

That was a specially and unusually cheerful night, but the sound of laughing was still falling weird on my ears. Regardless of that I cheered, drank and celebrated that renewed hope. I assume Azluun guided me back home - again -, because there's where I woke up, with a terrible headache and a bad taste in my mouth.

Still hung over from the drinking of the previous night, we prepared for the departure. Azluun came to say goodbye to his friends and draw a lot of attention when he also opened his way to shake my hand.

"May the Light be with you, my friend," he whispered to me. "Don't do anything reckless."

Recklessness was so expected of me, there was nothing I could say that would ease his spirit, so I simply smiled. Truth be said, all those wise men showering me with their wisdom - my Master, Voren'thal, Azluun - foresaw it right: I was about to do something stupid, and I saw that expedition as my chance, maybe my only chance.

I had to do something. I had to meet Neph.


	7. Chapter Six: Deception

The difference between the landscape of Shattrath and Netherstorm made my heart sink heavily into my chest. Far from being a harmless enchanted forest, Terokkar forest still yielded us the background of dreamy, healthy blue skies and chubby white clouds lazily traveling through the horizon. Netherstorm had only stormy skies painted in violent hues, from the brightest violet tones of anger to the sickest and darkest deep purple. Lands that couldn't grow anything safe for consumption. Chunks of land floating around aimlessly, driven by some vestige of magic slowly fading away. But unlike our troublesome march on Shattrath, we simply teleported our small group to Netherstorm and there were no incidents.

We were welcomed and escorted to the city by a group of goblin guards that approached us on sight. I remember being uncomfortable with the way one of the guards smiled at me, showing all his little sharp teeth. He looked a little less like a green imp because he was chubby. Still ugly as hell, the tip of his long, pointy ears brushing my elbows as he tried to get even closer. You see, it's not that I don't like goblins; but they always seem almost as interested in my butt as they are in the contents of my pockets. I do appreciate their genius and intelligence. Unfortunately, all those wits are used to pursue their one true love: gold.

And their cities were very different from any I'd ever seen before. Area 52 was a good example of a standard goblin city: it was confined within a stone wall, slightly higher than a regular man, and smelled of oil, explosions and chaos. We could hear the noisy workers even before stepping into the city's walls, when I almost ran over a small, wandering mechanical device. The chubby guard with a creepy smile guided us to the inn, although there was clearly no need for that: easily recognizable, the inn was one of a few "regular sized" buildings among the many small buildings made up of stone and metal. The background of that unnatural painting of a village was composed of a patchwork of mechanic inventions and trinkets wandering around, dancing to the soundtrack of small explosions and actual spinning wheels. Inventors and engineers, they breathed their technology as elves breathed magic.

We made ourselves comfortable at the inn, where I got myself a room the size of a cabinet, up the stairs. It smelled of mould and something else I couldn't identify - it was better not to think too much about that. I went to the window and opened it. Far away, yet as flashy and jarring as a diamond on the neck of a peasant, Tempest Keep floated by the edge of the continent. The fortress looked like a magnet, as the flux of arcane power mined on the mana forges was directed to the keep, making it shine with a brilliance only mage's eyes could see.

My heart ached from a wound it had not yet suffered, foreseeing the pain it would carry. As I climbed the ladder of command inside Kael'thas' forces, coming back to that place as a traitor and conspirer was not in my plans. Nor was it to leave my beloved alone, with no answers, waiting for my reasons and only getting my silence. It would've been so easy to just take Ala'Nyr and fly over to Tempest Keep, so close it felt by my yearning to see him again, yet made so distant by my own moral compass. I couldn't go back to the life I was living - not after what I'd experienced.

Eventually reality slapped me on the face again. As night drew closer, hunger made my stomach growl and I went down to the inn to get something to eat. Always show your gold before you speak to a goblin and he'll be nice and helpful, I learned. Before my silver coin hit the wooden balcony, a goblin with a big smile was already running to my side.

"What can I do for ya, beautiful?" the barman goblin said.

"A hot meal. Some... stew, with vegetables, something like that," I said, noticing the coin was already gone. "To be taken to my room."

"How about a good brown beer to wash it down, sweetie?" he asked, with an even larger smile. "I'll make a discount for ya. And because you're so pretty, just another coin and I can add a bowl of raspberries and..."

"No! No beer, no bowl of nothing. Just the meal. And my change," I quickly added, and even managed to see his eye twitch before he handed over a few coppers.

"Room service is extra, beautiful," he said, his smile a bit stiffened. I sighed.

"Fine. I'll wait," I said, sitting as the goblin yelled something to the kitchen and came back to where I was. He probably wasn't done trying to take gold out of me.

"You're new around here, babe?" he started. "I bet you're not. You're with the blue guys, right? You're with the traitors?"

I just nodded, and if he'd asked me for gold to shut up, I would pay.

"How about an update on the activities of your kind here, eh?" he asked, and I hesitated a bit before turning back to him.

"Well... I suppose that could be helpful," I said. We simply stared at each other before I realized he meant to get paid for the information. I returned the coppers he gave me as change with a grunt, and he quickly swept those over.

"Lemme tell ya, beautiful," he started. "Your friends are ruling over almost all Netherstorm. Not even the ethereals stay on their way!"

"Everyone knows that. What kind of information is that?"

"The kind worth a couple of coppers," he answered. "But for a silver, I can tell ya something way, way more interesting."

Damn those goblins. It was one of those times I truly realized how curiosity could be a fatal flaw, one shared by most mages. I took another silver coin but didn't let go of it even when the goblin grabbed it. Familiar with that small tug of war over a coin, I tried to sound serious to the barman.

"You say something good. Something really good. If it is really good, I'll give you another silver," I told him. Taking his eyes away from the hypnotizing silver gleam of the coin, he stared back at me.

"It's a rumor, beautiful," he began. "A hot rumor, that is! I have some really reliable sources, ya know?"

"Focus. What's the rumor?"

He even looked around in a suspicious way and motioned for me to get closer so he could whisper in my ear. He never let go of the coin.

"There's no proof, love. But there's some people whispering the possibility. Some people think that Kael'thas Sunstrider is messing with the higher evils, you know what I mean? Nothing as meager as these warlocks enslaving demons from the Twisting Nether, no," the goblin said. Lowering his voice even more, he continued. "Things are getting pretty weird down here. Some believe your pretty Prince turned his back on the Demon Hunter Illidan, and is now ally with greater demons. Demons... of the Burning Legion."

His theatrical revelation had all the impact the goblin wanted, and I lost the strength to hold the silver. The Burning Legion. The name left the taste of fel in the mouth, and the imagery it brought to memory was only of death and destruction. At that time, we didn't know much of it, only that it was dangerous, bloodthirsty and highly organized. It was a Legion of demons of the most dangerous kind, and while we didn't know of their true intentions, some bit was very clear: they wanted the destruction of our world, Azeroth. The Legion orchestrated the events that led to the cataclysm of this world, Draenor, which was now merely a flat, empty cask floating in the Twisting Nether. Enemies of all living beings, deceivers.

What, by the Light, would our Prince want with the Burning Legion?

I realized the goblin was waiting for the other coin I promised, and so I gave it to him. My meal came, I grabbed it and took to my room, my feet and my hands moving as if they got a will on their own, my hunger suddenly gone.

It was just a rumor, I kept telling myself. Just a rumor. But anything remotely related to the Burning Legion was worth of note, and so I made plans to report to Voren'thal and our group in the morning. There was something that couldn't wait for the morning.

I took some parchment paper and wrote a few lines.

Do not fear, sister. Don't listen to the rumors and gossip of those who can't see the whole picture. Watch over Neph for me, and when you think it's safe, tell him to meet me where we go when we want to be alone in three days, after his chores. Remember the monster from the cave. I have answers.

I hoped my plea would be enough, but now it comes to me it was quite a leap of faith to trust Nalysa in that situation. I never hesitated. It was an act of extreme recklessness, and it was also what saved me.

I folded the note without signing it and went to the window. Whispering a few words of power, a silver mist started to form betwen both of my cupped hands and twisted slowly. The mist grew more dense and shaped a small, spectral dove that took the note on its beak.

"Take it to Nalysa, and only to her."

The dove blinked slowly before taking flight, leaving a small trail of silver mist that vanished quickly. I hoped no one would notice it on the goblin village - it was a reasonably common way of delivering messages among young elves, so it wasn't an unusual sight at Tempest Keep, but it wasn't that common at Area 52.

Three days. I'd expect those days to be endless hours of complete anxiety, but I had plenty distractions. Scryers and Aldor trying to work together took an incredible amount of self control and diplomacy when we weren't under the vigilant eye of A'dal, but that was no surprise. The bickering never ceased, and while I gathered enough self control to stop some thoughts from reaching my tongue, diplomacy has never been my thing. The next morning was a proof of that.

I found myself, early that morning, barking at other draenei of our group that we should write a report about what I heard from the goblin. He yelled back at me, arguing we shouldn't take so serious every bit of rubbish the barman said to entertain drunken guests. Our "friendly" exchange of insults was put to an end when Other Aldor members thought it would be wise to warn Shattrath about the rumor. Apparently, other people heard the same thing about our Prince from different sources, so we wrote a report.

Honestly, those days spent at Area 52 were a blur to me, made meaningless by my heart's desire to be whole once again. The wait was the worst, but at least now I knew when it would end and where it would lead. I wasn't in the dark anymore, and that kept me moving forward.

Countless hours and minutes were made as fleeting as a dream that slips through your mind as you try to recall it in the next morning, as the prospect of seeing Neph once again left me sick. Sick of yearning, sick of longing, my heart about to explode both of joy in anticipation and impatience. I gathered enough patience, filled my spare hours rehearsing what I would tell my beloved and moved along the days.

This sickness that took over my spirit, this fever, almost concealed something else. Even though A'dal's song of hope still echoed in the depths of our minds, his absence left a hole in my heart - a dark pit that threatened to swallow us. I say "us" because I'm sure my fellow Scryers felt the same, not only then but also in our darkest hour. It wasn't the violent withdrawal we suffered from consuming fel magic, but it was there. That depression, that feeling of being incomplete... It was the same thing we felt when the Sunwell was destroyed.

After all, magic of all kinds is addictive.

* * *

When the day of the meeting finally came, a strange state of nervousness and higher awareness took over me, as I prepared to see Neph. My hair received extra attention as I brushed it until it was soft and shiny; I put on some nice, practical clothes and, after a moment of hesitation, I put on the Scryer's tabard. Those small treats for my vanity made me feel like myself and so, for a moment, everything sounded good.

I took certain precautions. Ala'Nyr draws too much attention, so I'd left her outside the goblin city that afternoon. Before leaving Area 52, I shrouded myself with an invisibility spell. My small night walk could lead to some complicated questions - for any answer I could think of, it would be a tricky situation. It was already late at night, and even the restless goblins were sleeping when I cast on myself the invisibility spell and left my room.

Now I barely remember my small journey in face of the events happened after it. The gods must favor the children, drunk and fools, for I was a fool and fate cleared my way to our meeting place. No one saw me. No one followed me.

Like I said, there's a ring of pieces of land, stone and earth surrounding Netherstorm. These pieces ranged from small rocks and pebbles to portions of the continent big enough to have a house perched on it. Neph and I used to go to one of those fragments of land that was regular enough to build a campfire on and large enough to safely dance around it. With about 30 feet of width, it was a portion of the plains Netherstorm once was, now floating aimlessly somewhere in between Tempest Keep and Area 52, if you'd follow the edge of the continent. It was only accessible by a flying mount, so I got there on the back of Ala'Nyr, my most trusted friend.

I sat on a rock by the vestiges of our last campfire, built what seemed hundreds of years ago, and filled my time by patting Ala'Nyr in silence. I got there knowing I'd have to wait for Neph, but I couldn't have known that it would be a long and terrible waiting. I waited for hours, days, weeks - or so it seemed - and in that period all kind of unwanted, awful thoughts spread icy roots into my head.

From up there, my great foolproof plan started to look absurd, reckless and even childish. It was only luck that had brought me there with no incidents, but not even the choice of our meeting place felt right now. At first I thought it was a safe place for no one tended to go there, but if anyone had spotted me on my way or even flown over me, I would be discovered. I was so sure of my superiority in the skies that none of that even went near my mind.

Ala'Nyr felt my restlessness and grew impatient, so I tried to calm her down by pulling her head to my lap and stroking her feathers. I also had to consider it the other way around. Should Neph be followed, a whole flying squad could be on his tail as he arrived - if he arrived at all! Could I have put the life of my beloved in danger?

Time behaves oddly in situations like that, I learned. Not only were my fears thriving and suffocating my heart like bindweed, but there was no way I could actually see time going by. There was no sun or moons running through the skies, no shadows growing taller, and my mind was so trapped into a circle of bad thoughts that my head couldn't understand my body's needs for warmth, comfort, food and water.

If my message, for some reason, had not reached my fiancé, I would languish there, insensitive to hunger and cold. My ears were sharp, though, taking the flapping of a moth's wings as the mount of my beloved. I couldn't tell how much time I spent there, but when I heard big wings, loud as a thunder, I stood up quickly and ignored my tingling legs. My heart tried to get out of my chest, beating so fast it hurt.

Nothing could have prepared me for that moment. In one second the world was still and silent and empty, and then life breached out abruptly. Following its noise, a golden dragonhawk rose from the edge of the land I was at, and to me it looked like the rising of the sun. Those icy claws of hopelessness dissipated as the rider slowly dismounted, and my feet even tried to run to him before I had them stop and wait.

As Neph slowly turned to face me, I knew there was something wrong with him. There was something different, but it didn't take much for me to realize he only mirrored my own change. His fancy dark robe looked larger on him, and somehow his beautiful golden skin seemed paler. But above discrete dark circles, his eyes had a strong brilliance, green like the grass, shinning like emeralds so bright, so intense...

So much like fel magic.

For a couple of seconds we stood there evaluating each other as two strangers, and I didn't like it. I didn't like the way his eyes wandered through my own beat-up looks, or the way he frowned at my tabard. Nor did I like the way he looked mistreated himself, as to imagine his suffering made me suffer.

Did he still remember my kiss? The feeling of my arms? Did this time made us strangers to one another? Did he still love me? Those questions had haunted me for so long, but not as fiercely as at that moment that felt like an eternity, compressed into a few seconds.

And then it all vanished. We were fatefully drawn to each other, and before any word could be uttered, his arms were wrapped around me and I nested myself on his wide chest. He hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe; listening to his heart beating wildly, feeling his warmth enveloping me brought me the certainty that, at that very moment, everything in the universe was aligned and just... well, right. That moment, everything was where and how it should be, and I was happy. I felt I belonged there, in his embrace, our hearts beating at the same beat and singing the same song.

No tongue has the proper words to describe that feeling, but I can try. It's the feeling of relief a drowning man has as he takes his first gulps of air. We only separated enough so we could press our mouths together, and drinking from his lips filled me with warmth, more delightful than warmth spreading through every inch of your body after you escape an icy blizzard and find a cozy fireplace. It felt like...

It felt like a drug, taken in the middle of a violent withdrawal. It eased my pains, my fears, numbing everything else and bringing me complete happiness and enchantment. But such a feeling can never last for long.

As I pulled him closer I noticed he had lost weight, as my arms enveloped his torso more easily. That was the most desperate exchange of caresses I remember, and as we finally pulled back to allow our lungs some fresh air, I took a good look at him.

"Aiwyn..." he whispered softly, and I realised how much I'd missed his voice. He took my face in his hands, his bright eyes hungrily devouring every detail of my looks. "My love... I missed you so much. I feared for the worst, but everything's fine now. What happened to you?"

I felt his face with my hand, and couldn't help but notice his skin wasn't as lush as before.

"I'm fine now, Neph," I answered. "Sorry for the silence, but I couldn't send you a message."

"I understand, don't worry," he said. "You're safe now. What have they done to you? What happened to your eyes?"

My joy in meeting with him was so great I didn't realize there was something wrong right there. As for my eyes, I knew what he was talking about. The more time we spent without feeding on fel magic, the more that bright green glow abandoned our eyes. Mine were already turning back to their original blue hue, as I hadn't fed on fel magic for long. I tried to comfort him with a smile.

"Don't worry about me, my love. There's so much I need to tell you," I started. "But what about you? Are you okay? You look so pale."

"I'm as bad as you, because our affliction is the same," he said. "But it must be worse for you. How long since you last fed?"

"I haven't tapped on anything since I left you. But listen..."

"My love, that's really cruel. What did they do to you? Here," he replied, and I knew what he would do before he took his hand to his pocket. It was that scene all over again. He took out a mana crystal, glowing green, bright, temptation swirling inside. Our favorite drug.

I took a deep breath and turned my eyes to him. It was time for that serious talk, the one I've been rehearsing the days before. As I tried to think of a way to start, I tried to smooth out the front of his robe.

"Neph..." I started, hesitantly. "There's so much I need to tell you. There's so much I've seen. So much that tells me that this isn't right," I told him.

"'This'?" he asked confused.

"Our way of life. Our deeds. This," I answered, indicating the crystal.

"What are you talking about?" Neph remained puzzled.

It was so hard to tell him, yet during my mental monologues it felt so easy and straightforward - I weaved an argument so full of logic and perfect in my head, so why was it so hard to explain it to someone?

"You should've seen what I saw at Shattrath, Neph. There's a being they call A'dal, and he feels like a being of pure light. He felt like the Sunwell, he..."

"I know," he interrupted me. "It was supposed to be ours by now."

"For what? For us to corrupt him as well?"

Never had our different points of view clashed so hard - or so openly. He even widened his eyes at that, silence taking him into a brief, pensive state. When he got out of that, he smugly slipped the crystal to my hand, wrapping his own hand firmly around mine, so I wouldn't let it go.

"Take this. You're confused. You don't know what you're talking about," he whispered softly by my ear, an order so seductive I almost took it as a plea.

It wouldn't take much more than that to make me do it, but on top of his silky voice in my ear, a ridiculous thought crossed my mind. If I took that fel magic, he would see I wasn't delusional because of a severe withdrawal crisis. He would be forced to see I was reasoning and well without it - he would believe me.

And so I took it, draining the magic contained in the crystal, feeling it running inside my veins and filling every inch of my body. I almost forgot how sweet and numbing fel magic felt, making me feel my heart start beating once again, after so long in its state of death. Neph seemed satisfied with it, showing me a glowing smile right before leaving a light peck on my lips. And it seemed as potent as fel magic, perhaps my personal favorite drug - his warmth, his breath and his love were as intoxicating and addictive, and that's what I'd been truly missing those days. It seasoned my blood with fire and lust, making me wish for his body and warmth even more. It was a narcotic so subtle you don't feel it as you drink from it - but once it's taken from you, there's no other drug or vice or person that can replace it and cure the terrible withdrawal that sets in. There's no cure, no turning back.

"Feeling better?" he asked me, that satisfied sweet smile upon his lips, those bright eyes shinning proud of me. So bright, so shinning, glowing fel green...

"This is going to ruin us all, Neph." I spat it out bluntly, my reasoning somehow stronger than his allure. "Voren'thal foresaw it. We can't keep on going like we are. Voren'thal says our only chance to survival-"

"Vore'thal?" he asked, frowning to me. "That old man is a traitor, Aiwyn. He led you all to this, ignoring our Prince's orders to take the city. He tricked you. Tell me: What truly happened at Shattrath?"

Why wouldn't Neph believe me? I staggered, but only for an instant.

"We laid down our weapons," I answered, and noticed there was pride in my voice. My chin was high, and hesitation fled my speech. I was certain that was the right thing to do, and so it shown off.

Neph read me well enough to perceive that, and so the certainty I held must had counted for something. He took half a step back, gripping both my arms - gently, but firmly - and taking a good look deep inside my eyes. What he was looking for? Perhaps confusion, delusion - the looks of a misguided child. But he found none of that. In a reasonably logical speech, I started to narrate what happened after we laid our weapons by Shattrath's defenders, hoping it would be enough to make him see truth in my beliefs. It wasn't the same coherent and strong argument I've been rehearsing in my head the last days, but things are never how we plan them. I told him about A'dal and Voren'thal, the Scryers and the Aldor. I told him about Shattrath itself, the Terrace of Light, Lower City. I told him almost everything - I just didn't mention anything about Azlun. I'm not sure why, I just didn't feel like talking about him to Neph, for I knew he was jealous and would see it all the wrong way.

Neph listened it all patiently, silent, speaking only when I took a break.

"Aiwyn," he started, speaking slowly and never turning his eyes from mine. "That was an act of treason. You followed them against your will, to survive, to-"

"I've seen it, Neph," I cut him right there. "I've seen what happens to one of us that loses control over the addiction. We will turn into deformed things, disgusting mindless creatures-"

"So you've seen a wretched. Is that what you're afraid of?"

"So you know it?" I replied surprised, widened eyes.

"That only happens to the weak of mind; it won't happen to us," he said, and the certainty in his voice was as strong as mine. "I will never let that happen to you, my love. I promise. I'll keep you safe from everyone... Even from yourself."

His belief was as strong as mine, even though we were pulling on opposite directions. There was some sort of logic in his speech - the sort of logic my heart wanted to follow. Just a few of his words touched my core, even though my whole speech filled with logic and reasoning wasn't enough to sway his. If I accepted it, I could be by his side as if nothing had happened.

But there was Voren'thal. There was Azlun and his brother.

There was my Master. And Kirin'Var.

"Neph, this is wrong, can't you see? Just look back at what we've done. Kirin'Var! Why Kirin'Var had to be obliterated?" I said, pleading he would understand.

"Kirin'Var was in our way," he said softly.

"So were we," I said. "Do you remember? When Silvermoon fell, when the undead raided on our lands to get to our sacred Sunwell. We were on their way."

"Are you comparing us to the Scourge?" he asked, at the same time amazed and shocked. "We deserved all we claimed after all we've been through!"

"We are no better than monsters if we keep on doing this," I began. "We..."

My ears caught a flapping sound. Wings. There was someone approaching, and I felt Ala'Nyr restless behind me. Someone found us, I thought. I tried to take a step back and look around, but Neph held me in place. His arms were a safe place for me, and he was calm, so I tried to calm down, even if my gut told me something was off.

An instant longer and two more riders appeared by the edge of the land, right where Neph landed. I felt paralyzed, growing tense as I realized who dismounted the two dragonhawks. The first thing I noticed was Nalysa's golden head and purple robes. The other rider was Il'than, with his permanent grimace and dark robes.

An awkward feeling nested between us all, but the thought took a while to set in my head, as I couldn't understand what was going on. I looked to Nalysa, Il'than, and then turned to face Neph once again, my eyes making the question I wouldn't say out loud. Neph smiled at me.

"Don't worry, love. They're friends, they're here to help," he said.

"Help? Help with what?" I asked, growing even more tense. "Neph... My love... Don't you believe me?"

"I know you're not lying to me," he answered, assuring, patient. "But that only means you've been misguided. Voren'thal is a deceiver, Aiwyn. A liar. You should not trust the words of a traitor."

"But... Neph... It's not only Voren'thal, it's-"

"Do you remember what happened the last time there was a traitor between us?" Neph asked me.

"We all remember," Il'than said, stepping up and approaching us. "We fell. Silvermoon fell. Dar'Khan Drathir pointed out the way our defenses worked to the undead, and for his greed for power, we all paid the price. The traitor himself got rewarded with something worse than death."

"I don't need to be reminded of that. It's not like it now. What are you doing here?" I hissed at Il'than, but he didn't even blink.

"Aiwyn..." Nalysa approached as well. She had the looks of a tormented child, torn between mother and father, her confusion clear in her face, her hands betraying her and making her nervousness more evident. "What is happening? Why didn't you come sooner?"

"She is confused, Nalysa," Neph answered before I could. His eyes never left my face. "They must have done something that left her this way. You see how she cares for you, Aiwyn? We all do. Now let's go home."

An ambush. The word hit me as sudden and certain as an arrow. Neph didn't seem surprised by Nalysa's and Il'than's approach. Had he orchestrated it? Was my beloved trying to ambush me? The thought made me breathless. No, it couldn't be... Not Neph...

"Stop it, Neph. I'm not confused!" I nearly screamed, which must had look bad for me, so I lowered my voice. "My love... Listen to me... There's been rumors... The Burning Legion?"

His indifference before that seemed just out of place. When the Legion was mentioned, indifference was the least expected reaction, and so his coolness left me apprehensive. He bended over and once again gave me the lightest peck on the lips.

"Sometimes," he started, whispering softly, "the only way of getting out of hell, is by becoming a demon."

Blood fled my face, I could feel it. My head started to spin ever so lightly, some sort of dizziness messing with my senses. No, that was wrong. He wasn't denying it - he wasn't saying it with all words either, but I knew him enough to acknowledge he was a skilled player. When I tried to take a step back, afraid of his certainty, of his calmness and unsaid words, he kept me in place. His hands tightened around my arms, and the light-headedness got even worse, calling from the depths of my mind for another scene where I felt that before. There was an urgent feeling attached to it, something warning out for danger and fear, for hopelessness, for despair...

The scene of the wretched in the cave just jumped in front of my eyes. Neph was absorbing my magic, feeding on my pool of power. Softly, so I wouldn't notice it right away, he was trying to cripple and weaken me, turn me into a docile maiden.

Or a docile lamb.

I fled his deceivingly caring embrace by using a blink spell - a sort of lower teleportation spell, quicker, that could only transport me a few yards at time. One moment I felt his hands tightly clasped around my arms, and then his grasp was gone. I moved a few yards away, closer to Ala'Nyr, but still facing Neph. Now my beloved's understanding smile was gone, even though his voice was still contained and soft.

"Aiwyn, my love..." he called out, rolling my name around his tongue. "Be reasonable... Let's go home..."

"Tempest Keep is not our home, Neph," I answered, taking one more step back. "Our way of life will destroy us."

"I told you," Il'than told Neph. "It's too late for her."

I turned to Il'than. Something turned around in my stomach, scorching, as I heard Il'than's voice. He always gave me the feeling of an old spider, but perhaps a viper was more appropriate. He's been poisoning Neph against me, I realized, and his tongue might be the one responsible for his doubts, for the way he didn't trust me. My beloved probably saw the anger growing up inside me, and when I was ready to turn that rage at his friend, he acted quickly.

Neph tried to cast down a curse on me. It was not a game. It was not a rougher caress or play. He raised his hands and quickly whispered words of power so obscure they often sent chills up one's spine, a dark mist gathering around his fingers before he threw it at me. It all happened so fast I couldn't believe I was quick enough to react. I raised my own hands in an instinctive defensive gesture, raising a sheer arcane barrier with them. My shield was pierced, but managed to deviate his curse - and as I felt that dark wind of death almost brush my face, all the hairs of my body bristled. It was a torture curse, one intended to harm and cripple and hurt. Ala'Nyr was alarmed by the chill of the dark magic and took flight. Even Nalysa seemed paler than usual, widening her eyes at Neph.

Was that truly my fiancée? I couldn't believe it. My fiancée never hit me with the intention of maiming - my fiancée never tried to weaken or strike me to bend me to his will. My beloved never tried to suffocate my Flame, and the more I thought about it, the more evident it was that he'd been changing for some time now, and I was the one who didn't want to see it. My beloved was already trailing a darker path long before that. Even so I widened my eyes at the attack, shocked by his actions, but most importantly, by how he seemed to think that was okay.

"Neph! What happened to you?!"

"Come on, Aiwyn," he called me softly, tempting. "If I tell them you were confused and forced to remain there, they will buy it. I just want us to be together."

Oh, and how I wanted that. How I yearned for that, for so long, so desperately. But something's changed. Not only on the scenario, the background, but on my fiancée. For a long time I believed the day I would willingly step away from my beloved would never come. How absurd! What was happiness, if not to grow old by his side? What was the sunset, if he wasn't there with me? What was my bed, if it's cold? What was I, without him?

The answer came quickly. I am a mage. I'm an alchemist. I'm a sky-rider. I was not to crawl through darkness, when I could fly close to the sun. I was not a leech, to feed on other's strengths. I would shine with my own brilliance, I would be a sun myself, flying with my own wings. In our journey for glory we'd left a trail of ashes, and I didn't want to be the queen of ashes. And if it depended on me, I wouldn't allow my people to destroy our world too. So those words, the ones I thought I'd never say, came out lighter and easier than I'd ever think they would, even though I still felt my heart crushed.

"Not like this, Neph," I started. "Not if the world has to burn for our glory. Not if it means we are to become like the monsters that broke us."

He squeezed his eyes, and for a few seconds there was silence.

"Very well," he said after that, and while his voice remained silky, I could feel icy shards tainting it. "I tried, Aiwyn. Someday you'll thank me for taking you by the hand and showing you the way. Maybe not now. Nalysa, Il'than, help me take her back to Tempest Keep. She is obviously confused."

Before my eyes, my lover became by enemy, and I clung to the hope that this was a nightmare - I hoped sometime I would awake from the horror of that turn of events. Being so close to Neph I never noticed how he'd been changing, but that sort of change didn't happen overnight. And what pained me the most was that even though he started to cast what I knew to be a deadly spell, even though he branded me as an enemy, as someone to be taken as prisoner, I still loved him. Even though he ambushed me with two friends, I still loved him. I couldn't do anything against him, even though he apparently had no restraint.

But I had to. Nalysa and Il'than surrounded me on either side in a clearly planned strategy. As they also started to cast, I knew things couldn't turn out good for me, but I tried to catch up. Four casters prepared their spells, three against one, the odds mocking me. The first to finish the cast would be the one in advantage, and since most powerful spells took more time to cast, I was doomed. Ala'Nyr was flying in circles above us, crying out in anticipation.

No matter the direction, if I tried to run, someone would hit me. If I hit someone - as if I could hit Neph or Nalysa - there would still be two left to strike me down. But Fate loves its jokes.

The air seethed with the arcane power being gathered and revolving the fabric of reality. The tension was unbearable, and for a few terrible seconds the world around me was muffled, as I could only hear my heart beating hard in my chest. Power flowed through my veins like liquid fire, gathering in my palms in a powerful fireball, sparkles dancing around my fingers. Nalysa finished her cast first. With her hands outstretched in front of her body, a cone of ice and snow was released from her palms and hit Neph right by his left side. He cried out in pain and I almost joined him; when he fell on one knee, my instinct was to run for him and tend to him, but I held my ground.

For the first time I saw a different expression on Il'than's face: for a fleeting instant, he widened his eyes and looked surprised at the treason, turning the spell he was preparing towards her. A deadly shadowbolt jumped from the palm of his hands and tried to hit Nalysa, but once again she was faster, protecting herself in a barrier of ice that shattered upon collision, showering the place in glowing ice shards. When the barrier was destroyed, Il'than was already trying to cast another spell, but then Nalysa whispered a few more words and ice claws reached out for him and froze him in place, grabbing his ankles and ruining his focus, making the spell he was preparing fizzle. Nalysa held an advantage over regular spell casters: her spells might not be as powerful and destructive as mine, for instance, but they were faster to prepare.

"I knew it..." Il'than began. "We shouldn't have trusted you. Were you planning this all along?"

Il'than tried to buy time for Neph to recover and strike, but Nalysa saw it and ignored Il'than, turning to the other elf. An outsider would have said Nalysa and Neph were mortal enemies as they started a small duel, exchanging deadly curses and blizzards, making the air crack with such amount of power. A caster's duel tended to be very dangerous for anyone around, for the missed and deflected spells could find other unaware targets to hit. Nalysa knew how to use her strengths, and as a result Neph was having a hard time finishing his casts, constantly forced to deflect or dodge her faster attacks. I'd been Neph's partner in the battlefield countless times. I knew his power, I'd counted on it. I'd been protected by it. Seeing such power turned at someone I cherished felt simply wrong.

They got so involved in their fight that they forgot the rest. It even became a possibility for Il'than to attack Nalysa and help Neph, and he did start preparing a cast, but it ended there for him. I launched towards him a big ball of fire so powerful that the collision sent him flying a few yards away, shattering instantly the ice that kept him in place. He growled in pain as the flames tried to consume him, and even though I knew it wasn't fatal for him, he was seriously wounded.

I couldn't think of what to do but prepare another spell. Things went so wrong I could have never predicted such ending. Underneath the battle stance we all had to take in face of the events, I could still hear my heart crying in despair. All I wanted to do was to tell them all to stop and go back in time. Why were they fighting? Was it because of me? In the end, Nalysa remained at my side and promptly attacked to keep me safe, the same way I did for her in the past. In the end, no matter what, Nalysa remained with me.

Neph didn't. And eventually he breached through Nalysa's defenses and casted down on her a torturing curse, one that would make her feel as if all of her bones were ablaze, burning inside, crippling and disabling. The air was filled with screams of pain as she fell to the ground writhing - and the world seemed turned upside down with my beloved ones battling because of me.

Il'than seemed to be recovering, and seeing Nalysa wasn't a threat anymore, Neph turned to face me. My spell was ready for the release, but...

"You can't," Neph said, and I noticed he was a little out of breath by his brief duel with Nalysa. "You can't hurt me, Aiwyn, I know it. I see it in your eyes. Let's stop this before anyone else gets hurt."

I knew I couldn't hurt Neph. Staying away from him was painful enough.

"Let's go home," he kept on trying to seduce me. "I love you."

"I love you too, Neph," I answered, before letting go of my spell - not at him, but to the ground.

Nalysa widened her eyes at me, and even Neph's mask of self assurance and confidence fell at the last second, as a shadow of doubt crossed his eyes. As the power I gathered was released to the ground in it's most raw and destructive nature, it pierced the land and caused all of that floating block of rock we stood on to collapse. I literally felt the ground open beneath my feet, and then we were falling, as big chunks of land were thrown in every direction in a violent explosion.

We were falling into the Twisting Nether, for I couldn't hurt my beloved. Now I'm not sure if that was a wise decision, but I decided to let Fate determine the result of that encounter. And I couldn't win Neph in his own game of seduction and soft words, so I turned the board to the ground.

As the land exploded, something unusual happened. "Unusual" happens often in places bubbling with arcane power and magic, so to be fair, it wasn't such a shock. For an outsider it might have looked as if that land was immersed in a viscous liquid. My spell made it explode from the inside, as if a bomb was placed deep inside it - but the fragments didn't simply fly away and fell. They were pushed away by the spell's strength but remained floating around.

And in the air, without knowing what was where and where was up, my superiority was undeniable. A whistle was already in my lips as I began to fall, and before long I saw what appeared to be a fireball piercing the skies and comming to my direction. Ala'Nyr came to my aid like an arrow, beautifully waltzing through the suspense rocks; more wings were flapping as more whistles filled the air, certainly the rest of the group calling for their mount's help. In a moment like that, the link Ala'Nyr and I shared could be decisive, since we've done that maneuver so many times before it felt like child's play. She slowed down perfectly as she approached, so that as I twisted my body and outstretched my arms, I took the position to fall directly on her saddle. I mounted and then we became one.

Quickly turning to the direction Ala'Nyr came from, I located Nalysa. After what she'd done for me, I couldn't abandon her. Her dragonhawk was already coming to her aid, but it wasn't as fast as Ala'Nyr, so I cast on Nalysa a slow-fall spell. The spell slowed down her falling speed, making it look like she was sinking into the sea, and not into the air. That allowed her mount to reach her in time - Nalysa was a reasonably good flyer, so she mounted quickly with no further problem and I led her out of the pit of the Twisting Nether that seemed to be calling for us. I flew to her and beyond, and Ala'Nyr breached the air fiercely, making it easier for Nalysa's mount to follow.

With the corner of my eyes, I saw more pairs of wings. One of the dragonhawks had had its wing smashed by a flying rock during the explosion, and so now it sank heavily into the abyss. I got the glimpse of one rider through the scattered floating remains of the land, but couldn't tell if it was Neph or Il'than. Perhaps that was a glimpse of his golden hair, or perhaps it was just my mind playing tricks on me.

We headed for the continent as fast as we could. I didn't look back. I couldn't. Was it Neph or Il'than that managed to avoid the fall? Whoever it was, would he be helping the other? Was their bond strong enough to risk their own lives for the other? I don't know. I don't know...

My heart was racing, fighting the urge to surrender to that overwhelming feeling of despair and hopelessness. There was no turning back. I would never see Neph again, for either he would be an enemy, or Fate had chosen that his journey would end that day. I would never see him again. Never. My beloved.

"Aiwyn!" Nalysa yelled to me while holding unto her mount with all her remaining strength. The wind muffled our words, but still I was able to hear her. "Neph left a flight squad waiting should anything happen!"

My brain barely processed that information when I saw it. As we reached the continent, a small flight squad was waiting for us, already in the air, with arrows and spells ready. It was truly ambushed by Neph, betrayed. But my heart would have to wait - there was no place for tears at the moment. I cast an invisibility spell on Nalysa, hiding her and her mount from them before they took an interest in her.

"Go to Area 52," I yelled back at her. "I will handle this."


	8. Chapter Seven: Redemption

The sky was mine. Flying came to me instinctively, as if I was born with wings; as natural as breathing. If someone had asked me if I wasn't afraid to face a whole flight squad alone, five fliers against one, I would face such question with the same disbelief as if I'd been asked if I wasn't afraid of a puppy. For that, people often label me as "crazy".

I flew directly at the group, piercing the skies easily. Ala'Nyr was faster and lighter than any other dragonhawk, so the first row of offensive spells and arrows missed me by simple miscalculation. They weren't used to facing someone faster than themselves - to be fair, none of them had ever fought another flight master in the skies. Their job was to shower arrows and spells down on rats on the ground. Facing another flying predator was something entirely new.

I laid on Ala'Nyr's back and embraced her neck, while she shrank her wings around her body and started to spin. We became a bullet, and while earth and sky constantly changed places, my phoenix's spinning made two more arrows slide off as a layer of swirling wind that surrounded us pushed them away.

Two fliers, casters, committed the mistake of flying too close to one another. I flew directly in between them, and the disturbance that we created was great enough to interfere with their flight. The air gap on our tail generated powerful winds that pulled both riders to our direction, but since the winds were too strong and they were too close, they didn't manage to maneuver in time. With a painful thud, the riders collided and started to fall in a mess of broken wings, dangling arms and screams. Two down.

The remaining riders started to maneuver to follow me. Ala'Nyr stretched her wings again only to correct her position, and then shrank them with her beak pointing to the ground. Maneuvers that would turn the stomach of others came naturally to us. Not everyone was ready to try some things - not every rider, and not every creature.

Ala'Nyr was my partner for life, and it only took me a few touches and signs to show her what I wanted to be done. It almost felt as if our minds were connected, as if her wings were mine - and in a way, they were. We plummeted fast in a vertical position, the ground drawing closer by the second as my sister's beak cut through the air. The wind muffled my ears and made my hair lash at my back; I squeezed my eyes agaist the swirling air. I held so tightly onto Ala'Nyr's saddle that my knuckles were white and my legs were tensed. We gained speed quickly.

Some of the riders fell for it and were foolish enough to try my maneuver - after all, I would put too much distance between us if they didn't follow me. But as they did, they must have realized the position didn't allow them to throw spells or arrows at me as the wind resistance would throw them right back.

The fall gave us more speed, and more quickly the ground approached. Every second mattered; a blink of the eyes could mean disaster. I barely breathed, my chest compressed by the wind and the excitement. Every dangerous maneuver was like flirting with misfortune, waltzing through the skies with Death itself.

Much later than a wiser rider would, I commanded my phoenix to stretch out her wings. With a hard jolt and an angled curve, we came out of a vertical position to a horizontal one, parallel to the ground. I could see small pebbles on the ground leaving my eyesight quick as fish swimming in a stream. If I wanted to, I could safely jump to the ground now, so close we were to it that Ala'Nyr had to tilt swiftly to either sides to avoid bigger rocks and mounds of earth that were part of the geography of Netherstorm. Another rider wasn't as skilled. I looked back just in time to see the closest rider fail to avoid a big rock - the wing of his dragonhawk hit the rock and caused him to stumble to the ground. Both rider and creature rolled to the ground, and even though the rider seemed fortunate enough to not have his neck snapped, I knew they would have a bunch of broken bones to take care of. I also noticed another rider stopped following me in my daring move and was left behind. None of the remaining riders seemed to be willing to keep on pursuing me.

The adrenalin rush still numbed my feelings, but I could feel it running out of my blood and leaving my muscles stiffened and hurt. I could barely feel my hands, tightly attached to Ala'Nyr's saddle. That fast pursuit brought me closer to Area 52, back where I should go, and before I knew it, I was already trying to relax from the tension of the recent events. Area 52 was right there, and so I was safe again, with my pursuers gone. I slowed down to give Ala'Nyr's wings some deserved rest, gaining some height again.

Arrogance has consistently been one of my most fatal flaws. I knew I was good in the skies - so good I never thought I would face another sky rider as talented as myself. The wind muffled my ears, but eventually I heard the soft whistle of a projectile cutting the air above me. Ala'Nyr's was faster than me, and she let out a shriek before acting on her own and trying to dive to the side. At the last moment, I noticed a shadow descending upon me.

One of the riders was faster, smarter and certainly more skilled than the rest - and he didn't seem to think that the hunt was over. He hadn't followed me on my insane fall, but instead probably took a current that allowed him to keep up with my speed. Directly above me, I hadn't noticed him until it was too late.

He was silent and precise, a shadow cutting through the skies. When I thought there was no one else left to follow me and slowed down, he dove. I only noticed the shadow, and then a sharp and blazing pain spread all along my left shoulder and arm. The beak of his dragonhawk cut through my flesh like butter and I heard my own voice let out a painful scream, but I was lucky for many reasons. For one, even though I felt my warm blood flow, it wasn't a fatal cut; and two, he was probably aiming for Ala'Nyr's wing. He could dismount me, he could shower me with arrows, but if he damaged one of her wings, I was doomed. Always aim for the wings - but hey, you must know this well.

Deep or shallow, fatal or not, I'm not a warrior, so I needed to resolve that quickly. My flight became unstable with his strike, and then it wasn't only adrenalin that made my heart race wildly. It was fear. I was the prey, and I wasn't used to be the prey. There were no cards left up my sleeve, no maneuvers that could chase him off. Ala'Nyr dove to the side and frantically fluttered to regain stability, trying to get away from our hunter as fast as possible. He pushed us away from Area 52, where we could be helped by the goblin city's defense, and towards Blade's Edge Mountains, the neighboring region.

Arrows started to fly and amplified my terror. I tried to raise an arcane shield but I soon heard Ala'Nyr scream in pain. The world around me was pure chaos and I knew I needed to be over with that quickly - her wings were still functional, apparently unhurt, but I couldn't count on luck alone.

He chased me off to the border of Blade's Edge Mountains, leaving Netherstorm and the arcane storm behind us. The region known as Blade's Edge Mountains is composed of a chain of mountains of the most special kind: they rose as a thousand needles pointing straight to the sky. It's a sterile and stony place, a terrible place of yellow and red rocks. I also learned the hard way it is a place known for the constant appearance of one of the most vicious creatures I know: Black dragons.

The hunter was keeping up with my speed as he chased me, but the arrows stopped coming. He was wiser than me, I will give him that - he was saving his limited arrows for a decisive strike. We flew over another gap between the continents, with only the Twisting Nether to wait for us down there, and reached the neighboring region where I hoped to outwit him and lose him in a maze of stony and sharp needles. Some regions of Blade's Edge Mountains made me think of a rocky needle shrubbery, and I hoped I'd be safe there.

I dove into the mountains and felt like I was inside a thorn bush, instead I was surrounded by stone. Ala'Nyr slowed down and skillfully made our way around her obstacles, waltzing through the air - one missed move could mean a snapped neck, but my reflexes were sharp and I trusted my sister's wings.

In a matter of seconds I emerged to the other side of that rocky wall of needles, letting out a relieved sigh. I felt the sun kissing my skin, something that hadn't happened a while ago, when the arcane storm covered the skies. Those mountains might be sterile and vibrating with the growls of dangerous, vicious creatures, but it still had dawn and dusk.

The rising sun's light showered me, and then no longer. A shadow fell over us again, but this time the hunter's attack wasn't as fast and stealthy as before. Yet I couldn't believe how he was able to keep up with me, not only in speed but in skills. I felt my strength abandoning me as well as my blood, but this time Ala'Nyr was more prepared and was able to avoid the attack completely, rolling to the side as the hunter dove before us.

The hunter prepared his bow once more, turning to face me.

There wasn't much left I could do that would be able to push him away - hunters are fast, they don't need to prepare spells. All they gotta do is fit an arrow in a bow and aim. If I tried to fly away to use the mountains as cover again, he would have plenty of room and time to shot me down. I was weakened, and so the arcane shield I got now would only be able to hold off one or two arrows before fading. If I was lucky, of course.

When you're face to face to your undoing, few seconds of complete tension become minutes as your mind race through your options - have you already noticed it? All of it became clear in my mind: I couldn't fly to the mountains and we were too close to perform any maneuver that could possibly put me in a better situation.

There was only the sun.

As if we were one, Ala'Nyr flapped her wings and took the position I needed. She never doubted me, even though during that time the hunter pierced my shield with an arrow that would otherwise be fatal. She never hesitated, even though we were now offering our exposed and soft bellies for him to hit. My shield was gone and we were vulnerable.

The sun's warmth bathed my back as the hunter once again raised his bow and his eyes to me for the killing blow. But then the sun's light behind me caught his sight, and I almost heard him grunt, shutting his eyes instinctively. Not only the sun was in his eyes, but Ala'Nyr's feathers reflected the morning light and returned it to him even stronger, almost becoming a second sun herself. Blinded, his fatal arrow missed by several inches.

It was the time to strike. We rushed forward, and a couple of wings' flaps brought us closer to the hunter - now becoming a prey. Without slowing down, Ala'Nyr did what she did best, what she was programmed to do as a flying predator: in the last moment she stretched her claws in front of her body, reaching out for her target. Her claws found the dragonhawk's wing and she grabbed it. Her victim squeaked in pain as its wing was torn and momentum favored us - Ala'Nyr was able to drag the creature through the sky for some feet, shaking the rider off the saddle before letting go. With one wing ruined, no flying creature could fly.

The hunter had no wings to save him either, and as he started to fall, I realized I didn't want to see it. I hugged Ala'Nyr's neck and closed my eyes - I didn't want to see his body breaking like a doll against the hard stone down there. I didn't want to see anyone else paying for my actions, for my recklesness, for my stupidity.

For my Neph.

The hunter - and the others of the squad, left behind at Netherstorm - were merely following orders, only pawns being used as a safe plan by Neph. And should he be alive, I knew he wouldn't mourn their wounds and deaths, but instead see to that the survivors were punished for their failure.

It was clear to me now like never before: Neph's neglect toward other living beings apart from ourselves had been growing for a long time, and I was the only one that hadn't wanted to see it. Perhaps I'd been so immersed in his love and devotion that it blinded me to everything else.

The tension started to fade and allow all kinds of pain to embrace me. The wound on my shoulder needed to be dealt with quickly; my stomach started to ache and turn, my limbs were heavy and stiff and my heart hurt so much inside my chest I couldn't breathe. My eyes were tightly shut and I wasn't commanding Ala'Nyr anymore, letting her take me whenever her wings would. I'd thought this was the time for tears, but they didn't come.

It's silly to think one could die from love, from that smothering torment pressing my chest - but when you feel it, when you're at the bottom of that pit, it even sounds like a good idea to just sit there and languish. There were no tears to relieve me. There was nothing anyone could say that moment that would make things better. Sure there were greater kinds of pain, but when you're drowning in that anguish, it feels that's impossible.

I tried to cry, to mourn that dear relationship that met its end with the corruption of my fiancé, but the tears refused to roll. You're right after all - I'm not over him, there's still place for hope in my heart. There's still place for him in my dreams. Somehow I knew he didn't fall to his death back at Netherstorm, and while there was life, there was hope. The feeling in my gut was as strong as the feeling of danger hovering over your offspring - it's instinctive and certain. I just knew it.

Yet another part of me, the reasoning part of me, tried to scream out in frustration. There was no place for hope there. He was gone, despite being alive. He was gone, despite me trying to bring him back to the Light. He wanted the shadows - despite me.

The wind lulled me into a numb state of mind, trying to prevent me from feeling the whole pain of the blow. He was gone. Corrupted, seduced by the shadows, he was gone. You may already be familiar with this, but mortals are thoroughly stupid. Instead of trying to get out of that pit, I couldn't stop playing in my mind the happiest moments I spent with him. Our first kiss, all those happy and exciting hours we spent at a hidden lake near Silvermoon, the day he proposed to me...

* * *

_"It hurt so much. You will never understand this pain, I'm sure, and for that you're fortunate," Aiwyn sighed. _

_He's been so silent for so long she thought he had fallen asleep, so she nearly jumped in bed when he started talking._

_"I'm not the heartless monster you think I am, you know," he said, while still looking at the ceiling. "You can doubt me as much as you want, but I understand your fiancé. If you were mine, you'd be by my side no matter what."_

_"Even if I didn't want it anymore?", she asked in a challenge, but he simply shrugged._

_"That would be beside the point," he replied, "if you were mine."_

_He did understand Neph, but that only made her certain she made the right choice._

_"Go on," he asked softly._

* * *

Hanging to the past, I realized before long that the present required my attention. Ala'Nyr shrieked softly, and I couldn't let my remaining beloved suffer because of my own pain. I had buried my head on her soft, feathery neck, but when she started to decend I raised my head slowly. On her own, she had flown to a region that was the triple vertex of the three neighboring regions: Netherstorm, Blade's Edge Mountains and Zangarmarsh. She wanted to land on the side of Zangarmarsh, where we had previously discovered a very reclusive little piece of land, hard to access on foot. She flew softly to the place without any commands, but her landing was a bit clumsy and she stumbled forward. Dismounting quickly I first inspected her, only to find some arrows had found their way through her feathers. She shrank one of her legs in a reflex, shrieking softly in pain. None of her wounds were too serious, thank the Light, and I only found one arrow immersed in her feathers, close to her tail. I took off the band I used to tie my hair and wrapped it around her leg, covering a deep cut caused by a missed arrow. Despite bleeding a bit, she seemed fine. I gently pulled the arrow that dug into her feathers and pressed it to stop the bleeding. It wasn't grave and I improvised another band tearing a piece of my linen undershirt. Ala'Nyr was taken care of for the moment and moved to drink some water from the nearby stream.

On the other hand, I was still bleeding. I pulled off my shirt and inspected my wound. The path of the healer certainly wasn't for me, and since I didn't have any healing potions at my disposal, I had to improvise. Conjuring a bottle of water, I used it to clean the wound - the moment I touched it, it started bleeding again.

I took a deep breath and put my hand on the cut. There are greater kinds of pain - giving birth is just one of them - but cauterization is hardly a mild, kind thing. I used my fire magic to cauterize my wound, like I'd done many times before, and before long I heard myself screaming in agony, rolling through the grass as I felt the smell of my own charred skin. The real, burning pain was welcome as it forced my mind to focus on it. The cauterization itself was as brief as a few seconds, but the wound kept on burning for a long time on its own. I don't know how much time I just laid there, enjoying the escape the physical pain provided me. Focusing on the pain, I didn't have to think of anything else. I didn't have to think about Neph, about Voren'thal or Azluun's brother.

Love is a drug, a sweet wine that you don't truly realize how intoxicating and addictive it actually is until it is taken from you. Then you feel it. The withdrawal is a terrible one, a paralyzing one. And before I even felt it, I knew there was another battle to come. I knew I would pay a high price for accepting Neph's mana crystal; I could feel the fel magic running through my veins, sweet and energizing, making my heart race uncontrollably. As Neph left my life - or so I would think - he made sure to leave his mark carved deep in my heart and my mind. He wouldn't leave peacefully, no. It wasn't his style. I knew before long I would have a nightmare of mood swings, shaky hands and headaches.

And there were still no tears - I wanted the tears, I wanted to give vent to that deep sadness, to let some of it leak out. Ala'Nyr pecked at my foot, impatient and angry at my lethargy. I could almost guess what she was thinking: "What about me? Are you just going to lay there and forget me? I need you!"

Without warning, a strange memory came to my mind. There was this one time, not long ago, that I found a dying bird rolling on the grass. To see a proud, flying predator dying on the ground is one of the saddest things I've ever seen. The bird probably flew directly into a tree or something - I will never know. I took the bird in my hands and nursed it, tried to give it water and feed and heal it. There were no visible wounds, which led me to believe he indeed hit an obstacle and must be broken inside. Despite my best efforts, after a couple of minutes I realized the bird was already dead in my hands. I burned it and let the ashes be carried by the wind, hoping that might be of some consolation - not sure to whom, though.

To be fair, perhaps I know why this memory came to me. I'd thought the fall would kill the hunter, but sometimes the fall alone is not enough. It may cause some broken bones and a perforated lung that would make him slowly drown in his own blood, and if that was the case, I felt like the best thing to do was to end his suffering, the kind of mercy I hadn't given that bird.

Carefully standing up, I put on my shirt again and evaluated Ala'Nyr's capacity to fly, only to find out it was not compromised. She was hurt, but she could endure that, I knew. I mounted slowly, grunting in pain, and once again we took flight.

The sun was already high on the sky, but not as high as I thought it would be. We flew swiftly but I tried not to push Ala'Nyr so much, since we were both tired and wounded. I flew high to avoid other flying predators I knew to be around that area, and there were no incidents during our fast journey. I wasn't sure of the exact spot our little duel took place, so we flew in low circles over a chosen area until some disturbances caught my sight.

Slowing down, I saw a bunch of raptors attacking a carcass on the ground. The hunter's pale dragonhawk served as a good feast for the native creatures, and I hoped the rider had not found the same fate. I pushed Ala'Nyr to find him.

Once again I got evidence of the hunter's wits and skills, as I flew over the place a few more minutes. I spotted at a good distance what appeared to be a dirty white sheet, torn, hanging from a rock formation by the mountains. As I lowered my eyes, I saw a small dark figure and two larger ones, more hungry raptors trying to get their lunch.

Understanding hit me instantly, and if my mood wasn't so dark I'm certain I would smile at the hunter's capabilities. The engineers of our world created a device that could act as a mage's slow-fall spell, and I saw myself forced to bow to their genius. The device is kept stored inside a backpack and can be triggered by pulling a string. The whole thing opens up and look a lot like a bed sheet attached to the user's back by some strings - it's kinda frightening at first, but you get used to it.

I could only guess his fall must've been troublesome, or else he would not have remained so close to his landing site in such a dangerous place. We approached and Ala'Nyr let out a high pitched eagle-like scream and the raptors approaching the hunter stopped. As we landed and the phoenix flapped her wings at them, screaming a wild threat at them, the raptors seemed to lose interest in their prey and ran away swiftly. I dismounted and looked over to the hunter.

Trying his best to look threatening, the blond, slim hunter didn't hide his pain very well. I could only assume one of his legs was broken by the way he put all of his weight on the other side; perhaps some more broken ribs too, as he had one of his hands pressing the side of his torso. I couldn't clearly see his hands, so despite seeing his broken bow lying on the ground, I assumed he still held to a knife he could throw at me, and I didn't approach much.

We stared at each other, and even though there was hatred in his eyes, I felt not all of it was directed to me. He was familiar; I must've flown by his side before.

"An'lor Sunbright, is that it?" I started as I recognized the man that now leaned against a rock. I was right, he was part of our select group of extra skilled fliers.

"Oh, so you know my name. What an honor," he replied sarcastically. That's all I knew of him. He was one of those people that tend to fade in the background, hiding in others' shadows. He felt like the kind of person that didn't like people. "Tell me: did you see what happened to my dragonhawk?"

"...I did," I was a bit reluctant in telling him, since he seemed to value beasts lives more than peoples'. "It died with the fall. It was fast."

After another tense moment of silence, he nodded slowly in approval.

"Good," he said slowly. "I thought I'd be luckier than him, but I guess I was wrong." His device must had gotten stuck in the rocky mountains and caused him to have a troubled landing. And now he thought I came to finish him off. "I never thought I'd be facing you."

That got me by surprise.

"You didn't? Neph didn't tell you?" I asked. An'lor shook his head.

"He said he would be treating with a dangerous emissary. He would go to the meeting place and talk to you. If he didn't return within a couple of minutes, Nalysa and Il'than would go there to assist him."

Nalysa. She betrayed them to help me. Surely she already had doubts, but later on I learned that moment when Neph attacked me was decisive for her to make up her mind and stay by my side. My sister in anything but blood - I had to overcome my own personal crisis quickly, if not for me, for her. I had to be there for her.

"If things went wrong, he would signal for us to take care of the situation," the hunter kept on telling me, straightforward and simple like that, as if it was a daily mission. "We were told to capture you alive."

Even from the bottom of his shadowy pit, Neph still cared enough to take me alive, instead of simply killing me for treason. He still loved me in his greedy sort of way - as long as I was by his side, he didn't mind if I needed to be maimed and chained. Birds with broken wings can't fly away.

An'lor waited patiently for his words to sink in my mind. The only reason he was talking so much so freely, I assumed, was because he thought he was about to die. That proved to be a good guess.

"Would you be so kind and deliver a message for me?" he finally asked after a moment. I had to admire the dignity he held while face to face to that situation, his pain was clear in his face. He kept his chin high and always looked at me in the eyes.

"This is not the time for your last words and last wishes, An'lor."

He seemed surprised by that, keeping a healthy drop of caution to himself.

"If you're not here to get rid of me, what do you want?"

"I want to see if you're as smart as you look," I said. I felt I already caused so much pain that I needed to do something to redeem myself. Helping him sounded like a good start. "What do you know of the Scryers?"

I was never a diplomat, nor was I ever particularly skilled with words - except for insults - so I'm sure it wasn't just my words that demoted An'lor from the way of our Prince and into the Scryers. He was already unhappy about our Prince, and I imagine he hadn't been with our original formation because he kept himself under the radar.

I teleported us back to Area 52, only to find out Nalysa promptly took my chores and gave the Scryers and Aldors updated information about Kael'thas' followers moves and whereabouts. Even the most annoying Aldor members seemed to like and accept Nalysa - certainly the information she gave them was precious - but I was certain she must have had troubles in making them trust her. For her I also had to be thankful for preparing the terrain at Area 52. No one questioned me, no one confronted me and no one scolded me. That was her doing, I'm sure.

There were some sympathetic glances too, I can't deny it. Perhaps I even grew higher in their eyes for remaining true to our cause instead of keeping by the side of my beloved, which would'd been easier. They could all relate to the feeling of losing a loved one. And on top of that, I brought with me two more elves to our side with solid, important information. That must have counted for something.

All I wanted to do, though, was to dig a hole and bury my head in it. A world without Neph by my side seemed like a world without a North, but it got even worse on that regard.

The rumors raised worries and questions. What Nalysa and An'lor saw only fed those doubts, and before long some adventurers were put to the task of checking it out. It was true. The depth of our Prince's decent to that pit of madness was now clear: the Burning Legion was involved and allied to our Prince, who had promptly abandoned the demonhunter Illidan for another dark lord.

You already know what happened next. The world's attention turned towards Tempest Keep when the word spread. And though mortals can be foolish to no end, the Burning Legion was capable of doing something unbelievable for that time: under the shadow of such an important threat, Horde and Alliance were capable of forging a temporary truce and joining forces. The world turned against Tempest Keep and Kael'thas, and before long, there was the call to arms.

It pained me to see such a situation, a scene taken directly from our worst nightmares. The very person that took us out of darkness lost his mind, and after our people had almost gone extinct, after we almost became a mere memory or note in the history books, we would also lose our ruler, first to madness, and then to Death itself. It was too much.

I remained loyal to the Scryers and Voren'thal, performing my tasks and chores at Area 52 while keeping my ears open for any piece of news from anywhere.

When the summoning came, I didn't answer. Some of the most capable and daring heroes of Azeroth united to take down Tempest Keep in a feat of both bravery and power. Kael'thas was a powerful mage, with all the arcane power mined at Netherstorm at his disposal, so it wouldn't be easy. Normally I don't hesitate on answering such call to arms, but this was different. I had broken bread with those people at Tempest Keep, studied by their side, fought by their side. I was afraid I could falter when the time required decisiveness. I was afraid I would meet Neph and either compromise the operation or be forced to see the light fade from his eyes. It was a rare situation in my life, when I would behave like a complete coward. Katu'zul would've slapped me on the forehead.

But Nalysa understood me and she remained by my side. We waited at Area 52 for news, seeing those brave heroes from all around Azeroth united against one single evil force: the Burning Legion. Our Prince was only its puppet, only a face to punch.

We knew it would happen, and in time Tempest Keep fell. I was at the goblin village when that happened, sitting by my bedroom's window with Nalysa by my side. No one uttered a word for hours, as we just kept our eyes locked at Tempest Keep, trying to imagine what was going on inside. I didn't know what to make of what I felt. Was I relieved that was over? Was I apprehensive about what was to come? I guess I felt it all and more, and those feelings paralyzed me. I forced myself forward and volunteered to be part of the group that would "clean up" the enchanted fortress. Look for survivors, slay anything left that resisted and sack the place I once helped taking and keeping.

I never thought I would live to see Tempest Keep broken. As our big search team entered the place, we saw the main halls were empty and scarred by the conflict that had taken place there. The floor of pale stone told a story for all who wanted to see, with marks of blood and fire and a hundred footprints. Some places were nearly untouched, but everywhere there were knocked over lamps and broken lilac-stained glass. The glowing crystals that enlightened our paths were either broken or taken, sacked previously by some greedy hero.

Ravaged as if run by a group of savages - a tornado wouldn't had done so much damage to the keep, as some corridors didn't have a piece of glass larger than a finger intact.

But the worst were the bodies. Everywhere I could see there were slender bodies being dragged away to be taken care of, armor taken off and pockets turned over. The plundering wasn't new to me - it was a common and expected practice. The winning side must take their reward. Only… the way they rolled over bodies of former colleagues of mine seemed so disrespectful I didn't even stop to think I would do the same if I didn't have any sort of connection with them. But those were elves. Those were my people, my history. I fled that scene that reminded me so much of vultures feasting over a carcass and wandered around Tempest Keep on my own.

Despite my fears, I didn't find Neph. Not even where our room used to be. But I didn't stay long there - that place was just too full of happy memories. I just grabbed a few personal items I left there and a large backpack before moving on.

I wandered places I hadn't been allowed before, only to see the Burning Legion's presence obvious. Bodies of higher demons laid charred and cut to pieces in some rooms, forbidden rune circles of dark purposes were drawn out on the floor as if commonplace, usual. The air even felt gummy and sticky with the reminiscent fel magic, the kind of residue left by the summoning of demons.

Eventually I reached a chamber used as laboratory for experiments. I'd been there before only sporadically - that was the place where our inventors devised their trinkets, magical or not, and researched and studied existing ones. Those places deep inside the keep weren't usually the stage of a battle, but still I could see signs of a rushed getaway, with knocked over items and broken glasses on the ground. I took some time to focus on what I got there and tried to recover some of the research that was being done. I managed to smuggle various intact notebooks and scrolls and strange items out of that place before anyone else would get there to claim their share of the spoils. Everything that caught my attention went inside my backpack, including a very special rune necklace that now rests upon your neck.

* * *

_He shot at Aiwyn a displeased glance._

_"Yes, you daring idiot," she mocked him. "You are being kept at check by an experimental trinket that I wouldn't have even took if I hadn't had room in my bag. If that runic thingy didn't grab my attention for half a second, things would have gone terribly differently for me, I take it "_

_The man snorted as an answer._

_"I wouldn't need chains to make you my pet," he joked. "Although, if I know you well, I think you would force me to kill you. I could swallow you whole."_

_She merely chuckled at him._

_"See? Fate likes to mock incredible beasts like yourself as well, not only mortals," she teased, "but as I was saying..."_

* * *

As I looked around, all I could think of was how we'd tried to make that place our home, covering the floors and walls with red carpets and gold. But in the end the bones of that place were made by draenei hands and it was hard not to notice that. In the end, various draenei were held captive and tortured in that shining, beautiful fortress. As I made my way out of that room, I realized my feet were taking me even deeper inside the keep, to a place I was not only welcomed but summoned to.

The door was closed and locked, so I had to fireball it to enter - it seemed none of my team wandered so far just yet. The room was mostly kept in the dark, with a soft light revealing some of its main terrible features. The air was still, heavy with the stench of blood and sweat they never managed to get rid of. I suspected they didn't even try. That room smelled of fear and pain, and that was by itself a premise of what's to come to whomever would enter in chains. For innocent eyes, the devices leaning against the wall, or even the large wooden table in the middle of the room, wouldn't look as terrifying as they could be. This was the torture chamber.

We'd done many terrible things, and nothing will ever erase our deeds, but I could try to redeem myself. I went to a small back room where some more items were kept in some shelves. The elf responsible for keeping the place and leading the "sessions" liked to take something of the victims. A ring, a lock of hair, a charm, a letter from a loved one. A token, a trophy. The items were kept in a shelf to the left side of the room, displayed neatly lined up.

My body acted by itself, my mind blissfully numb, my heart made of stone. I ran my eyes over the shelf, searching for a particular item. I found it resting on one of the bottom shelves: a simple blue doll with big eyes made of shinning beads and wearing a white dress. I can't say how long I just stared at the doll in my hands, wondering if I would have the courage to do what needed to be done. Eventually my team reached that place and made me move on. The rest of the work was pretty monotonous, the fear of the possibility of finding Neph fading somehow. My heart was hardened and prepared for anything, I thought.

But in the end, not even Kael'thas' body was found, and things definitely got weird and stressful. The fortress was thoroughly searched and no one found him. Apparently the idiotic heroes weren't careful enough and allowed Kael'thas and a bunch of followers to flee. No one saw that coming.

After being pushed around like a small boat in the open sea, paddling wildly to remain on the surface, when the storm halted briefly I also felt a bit lost. But regardless, I kept on paddling and after being released of my chores, swallowing my fear, I went back to Shattrath.

Once there, I received more terrible news: now openly defiant against the whole world, Kael'thas Sunstrider, the last of a royal elven bloodline, went back where it all began, to our sacred nest and greatest scar. Our Prince claimed control over the place our Sunwell used to be, the Sunwell Plateau. Our well of light was gone, but there was still power in the place, which made me wonder what he was planning. The world was already recovering and preparing for another battle.

I, on the other hand, were preparing for something different. I waited patiently for night to come, and then went to find him where I knew he would be. By now, Shattrath's streets were known to my feet, which quickly made their way to the tavern. Some part of my mind didn't want to find Azluun there, but that possibility was discarded as I entered the place. He was by the counter, and even if all I could see was his large back, I instantly recognized him. I could still turn around and flee; he hadn't spotted me, talking lightly to the barman.

I approached and sat on the stool by his side.

"Water," I requested from the barman.

A friendly smile quickly came to Azluun's lips as he noticed my presence. My dark mood was hovering over my head like a buzzard and he noticed that too, so his smile didn't grow too big. It even looked like a sad smile. He knew how to take the temperature of people's moods, like a good leader should, and act accordingly. A cheery welcome would not fit the moment.

"I'm glad to see you're not harmed, my friend," he started. "At least not physically."

"It's good to see you again, too," I started, and it really was. "What have you been doing?"

"Patrolling the city. A lot of people from your Azeroth landed here lately," he explained. "Lots of people together in one place can cause lots of trouble."

"I can imagine. I thought you would answer the call to arms, though," I said, but he shook his head.

"I'd rather be here, protecting my people and those who remained here," he explained, turning the giant mug of beer he had in his hand. "Did you?"

"No," as I said it, I realized I wanted to talk. I needed to talk. He must have realized it, for he kept inspecting me with his watchful eye. The barman put a glass of water in front of me, and despite not being thirsty I downed it all at once.

"I believe there's no need to ask if there's anything wrong," he started, looking at the empty glass of water, "because there's so much going on lately. The question is: is there anything I can do to help?"

His concern for me was clear in his eyes, and thinking about it now I get the idea he was holding himself back. Perhaps he wanted to put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, give me a warmer welcome, but he didn't touch me yet.

"I need to talk," I finally said. "But not here."

With just an understanding silence and a nod, he stood up and offered me his arm when I did too. We left and he guided me through the city, wandering through alleys and small paths I hadn't even known existed. I didn't truly pay attention to where he was taking me, but at the end of that small walk, he helped me climb on top of a tall rock and sat on another smaller one by my side. That way, our eyes were more or less on the same level. Some trees did the job of hiding us from prying eyes, but right before us we had a clean view of the temple in the middle of Shattrath. For a minute, I stared at the temple and then took a long breath.

"I did something stupid," I said. "But I guess you already knew that was going to happen."

"You are a stubborn little thing, yes," he said. "How stupid?"

That was the moment I let it all out. I started to talk in a never-ending torrent of facts and sadness. I suppose my prose was surprisingly cohesive for my state of mind, and as I started reliving the last days, the tears started to gather and burn my eyes. First they rolled freely and silently, and when there were no more important facts to narrate, I dissolved into a sobbing and whimpering mess. I don't think I'd ever cried so hard in my life until then, and I felt relieved to have Azluun by my side, when he promptly offered his shoulder. I saw my tears rolling down his armor, and after a moment's hesitation, I felt his hand on my back.

It was different, mind you, the kind of friendship I got with Azluun and Nalysa. I always felt I needed to look strong for Nalysa, to spare her from my nightmares. I was the shoulder for her to cry on, and that role of "big sister" came to me as naturally as if we actually were blood related sisters. With Azluun it was different. His presence was reassuring, protective. I felt safe by his side, and everything else was just a natural consequence of that.

Tears do have some sort of intrinsic cathartic power, as if our inner sadness could condense and leak out of our body through them. The more I cried, the more I calmed down. They couldn't cure all illnesses of the heart, but they served me as temporary relief, no doubt. Azluun remained silent, patting my back and listening patiently. Slowly, the crying was reduced to a soft sniveling until it stopped altogether.

"And now there's this issue with our Prince," I began after that long silence. "I never thought I would live to see Kael'thas Sunstrider at the bottom of a pit of madness."

"Can you handle the truth, Aiwyn?" Azluun asked me. His voice was a bit husky from the long moment of silence. That was a strange request, so I raised my head from his shoulder to look at him. Slowly, I nodded. "Then I must tell you this: Madness more often than not isn't a pit. This kind of madness - this fever, greed, lust for power - is not just lying around the corner. It is not static, it is not something that's just waiting to be found."

That was an odd way to put things, but he kept on.

"I believe it's more like... a ladder," he said. "It needs to be climbed. Your elven prince made the wrong decisions, but ultimately he walked that path with his own feet. He climbed the stairs himself."

That made sense, but it didn't work to soothe my pain - it meant no one could be blamed for Kael'thas' mistakes but himself. And the same could be said of Neph - he chose the path he walked, the same way I chose mine.

"I need to ask you something. A favor," he said, taking me from my drifting thoughts. "I think it may help you in these dark moments we are living now."

"What is it?" I asked.

"You see, sometimes, when we are alone, we may not find enough reasons for ourselves to overcome a situation. If there's someone under your wing, someone that needs you, however, it may be easier to move on," he said, and I recognized the wisdom of his words: I remained strong for Nalysa when we faced the wretched, I moved on because Ala'Nyr was hurt.

"I understand. But what...?" I inquired, and he smiled kindly.

"There's an orphan human boy at the orphanage that says he knows you. He seems to admire you very much," he continued, now with a true, gentle smile upon his lips. "He told me a story of you saving him - you may not remember, but he never forgot. What I ask you is this: Pay him a visit. Talk to him, get to know him. And, if you find in your heart the will and strength - and if you find he's worth it... Well, he's interested in becoming a mage. Have you ever thought of having an apprentice?"

No, I'd never thought of it. The question remained in the air as I pondered. I didn't know if I was prepared to have an apprentice - my own Master was very resistant to the idea of taking me as an apprentice. His first and only, he only looked at me twice when I almost smashed down his door, after he'd ignored a dozen requests for him to take me as an apprentice. The question brought me into a pacifying state of reasoning, weighing the pros and cons.

"What about the withdrawal?" he asked me. "Do you feel alright?"

I could hardly say I felt "alright" in any way, but at least for the moment a withdrawal crisis was something reserved for my near future.

"I... I started using fel magic again," I ended up confessing, embarrassed. It was a mistake to accept the mana crystal Neph offered me. My thirst, which I deemed sated until that moment, only came back stronger. While I was with Nalysa, she shared her crystals with me. She showed slight interest in getting rid of the addiction, so I advised her properly: I gave her some potions that could soothe the withdrawal symptoms and told her to stop slowly. Against my own advice, the simple step-by-step approach, I planned to jump off a cliff and stop completely.

"I'm gonna try to stop. Again," I explained, still a bit embarrassed. Azluun simply smiled at me.

"If you're ever in need for some help, you know where to find me," he said.

I have no idea how long we remained there, but when I realized the sky was not as dark as a moment ago, announcing the arrival of the sun in a couple of hours, I knew the time had come.

"Azluun... I have something for you."

He turned to look at me, and his smile seemed to falter as he saw my hesitation. After a while I realized I couldn't look him in the eyes, so I looked to the temple.

"I guess at this point it is almost insulting to ask for forgiveness," I started, feeling something stuck in my throat. "And I can't give you relief in any way in this regard, the same way no one can make me feel better about what happened to Neph. But I still feel I owe you something."

I searched in my backpack, taking out the blue doll and holding it in my hands for a moment.

"This is all I can give you: closure."

As he took the small doll in his big hands, I forced myself to look him in the eye. His face became a stone, hardened and blank. Certainly there were a dozen different emotions raging behind that stone face, and as he starred down at the doll, distractedly brushing her hair with his big finger, I felt terrible. Azluun only meant good things for me so far, so why was I bringing him so much pain? I always thought that the false hope he was carrying might be harmful in a long term basis, but now I wasn't so sure of that anymore.

"My niece gave him this," he said, after a long moment of silence, still looking at the doll. "When he went missing, I feared for the worse, but what kept me on going was my niece. She needs me more than ever before." Suddenly he raised his eyes at me, and I even shrank. "Do you know what happened?"

I just nodded. He took a deep breath.

"Do I want to know what happened?" he asked again. This time, I shook my head. No, he certainly didn't want to know what happened, but he kept on. "Was it fast?"

He was fighting to keep on that mask, but it seemed harder than it looked. His lips were tensely pressed, his eyes were too shiny. I could only guess what kind of feelings were fighting inside him to take over, and I couldn't blame him for anything he might have felt against me.

"No, it wasn't," I finally asked. Seven days, I thought. It took seven days for him to die. "We thought he had important information. If he did, we never heard of it."

It was hard to keep his gaze, but I did. That was part of my redemption, so I couldn't run now. His voice was shaking a little, and that made something inside me shake like an earthquake - seeing him heartbroken made me feel like the worst person.

"My brother was strong," he finally said, turning his eyes to the doll again. "I would like to remember him like that."

The sun was already showering the night sky with its first rays of light, and only then I realized how much time we spent there. I felt that was my cue, so I got up.

"I'm sorry, Azluun. For everything," I managed to say. "I guess I'm going to go now."

"I... I am going to stay here a bit longer," he told me slowly, with part of his mind elsewhere. "What are you going to do now?"

I pondered over that.

"I don't know. I'm thinking of exploring Blade's Edge Mountains," I answered. You know how that story ended up, though. There's where I met you.

I believe that if the situation was a little different, Azluun would've asked me if I wanted company. I couldn't blame him if he wanted to hate me, even if I would mourn deeply our friendship if that happened. It almost felt as if he tried to hate me, which made me think there was more going on inside that head of his than he led me to believe. An awkward feeling nested between us for some time, and for the next days, if I ever saw him at the tavern, I would only see a glass of water by his side. That awkward feeling slowly faded as the days passed, though.

If he tried to hate me, he failed, and I couldn't understand why. At that moment though, with the doll in his hands, the battle was still going on in his head.

"Be careful, Aiwyn the Mage," he said, and then he looked up to me. "I believe the gods may have something planned for you."

I made a stiff, light bow that he returned. The smile he gave was one of the saddest I'd seen.

"May the Light be with you, my friend."


	9. Epilogue

The wind.

It was only the wind, howling its way into her bedroom and her mind, shaping her dreams into a confusing mess of memories and bad omens. Whispers and spine-chilling moans slithered into the inn through every crack in the wooden walls they could find. The wind was cold and brought heavy black clouds to cover the night sky and shroud the White Lady and her Blue Child. The two moons couldn't show their light that night, and a storm was coming.

Aiwyn woke up because of the cold, far away from that comfortable and luxurious room that was, more or less, hers. It's been a couple of weeks since she left that warm place, fit for an elf and suitable for a night of storytelling. Now the cold seeped into her body and made her curl into a fetal position to remain warm, the bed sheets pulled close to her. There was no way to get warmer when the window was open, and eventually her consciousness emerged just enough to realize that. The elf sat up, shivering and rubbing her eyes as she tried to understand the bad feeling that tried to scream from the back of her mind to tell her something was wrong. Her mind still swayed between the vague and blurred realm of dreams and the crude and blunt reality, trying to take a grasp of that premonitory itch. It was a distant feeling, a bad omen so curious that it took her a second to name it...

A man. She'd lain with a man and woke up alone - of course, her bed wasn't supposed to be so cold, and the window wasn't supposed to be open. Sliding off of her bed and covering herself with a large male linen shirt, she walked up to the window and took a look outside. She squeezed her eyes against the chilly wind that sent her hair lashing at her back and shrugged. It appeared that every living being went looking for cover to prepare for the storm to come, and not even the rats wandered outside. A leafless tree just outside the inn bent to the will of the wind and its ghostly and naked branches tapped against the window of another patron's room. She wondered how they could sleep when the creaking of the tree hurt her ears from where she was, and hoped the innkeeper had given the patron a good price.

As she was about to shut the window and ponder over the idea of returning to bed, she heard a nervous horse at the stables. She waited a minute to check if the horse would keep on neighing nervously, but it didn't. It might be the animal simply reacting to the static of the storm to come, it might be nothing since horses can fear their own shadows, but that bad feeling didn't leave her still, so she grabbed her staff and stepped out of her room.

Perhaps he had just gone out for some fresh air but... who was she trying to fool? She was worried.

Not a single soul roamed through the night but her, it seemed. Aiwyn regretted almost instantly her simple linen shirt. She should have put on something that could protect and cover her body a little more, but now she was halfway to the stables and the darkness was so deep she had to make the top of her staff glow and let its light guide her like a candle. She heard the horse again, this time closer.

The stables were not as calm as she would expect. Her staff showered the place with its soft light and revealed the outline of the different bays, a few of them occupied. The nervous neigh of the horse was not the only noise that filled the place, the only one that could be heard above the howling of the wind. A war direwolf also sniffed the air and growled at the darkness, and she carefully approached to try to figure out what was wrong. She was barely through the door of the stables when a strong hand pulled her by the neck. A strong, rough, sailor's hand.

A smothered gasp got stuck in her throat as she felt herself roughly pressed against the wall, her staff falling to the ground. Another strong hand grabbed her wrist when she tried to slap him, and when she felt her neck released, both of her hands were held against the wall, struggling vainly.

All of her strength was like a summer breeze trying to break a mountain, his hands made of stone. Stone that was covered in something sticky and warm.

"What do you think you're doing?! Lan, let go!" she hissed at him. She knew it was him long before she took a good look at her aggressor. And now, before his blazing red eyes, she knew there was something wrong with him.

"No," he answered, a smug smile slipping through his lips.

That simple act of defiance enraged her, but her fiery wrath turned quickly to fear: her eyes went down his face, and she saw the rune necklace around his neck fading. Some runes were completely gone, while others shone their final light before her eyes.

She felt her guts freezing. Those runes were all that kept him docile and loyal to her will - and he was dispelling the spell, resisting it, waving it away like it was a mild nuisance.

To be honest, she'd been waiting for that day when he would break his chains, but she didn't expect it to happen in that fashion.

"It's so kind of you to come and say goodbye," he started in that soft voice. "I didn't want to wake you, you know."

"You...! How dare you!" her rage shaped the most creative insults in her head at that moment, but she tried to keep them there, in her head. It was not an empty threat that froze her in place, not a rough foreplay. There was nothing standing between his hands and her neck. She felt something sliding down her wrists, and only then realized his hands were covered in blood. "What... what have you done? Where did you get that?" she said as her eyes caught the shape of a sheathed sword attached to his belt, something she'd never seen in his possession. There were so many things wrong with that picture.

"I took it," he answered with that mocking smile. "I should take you as well. Make you regret this, this petty binding spell," he chuckled softly.

"Why don't you? Is that what you want? Or is that what the voices in your head want?" the elf challenged him, and immediately squeezed herself against the wall, trying to get away from him as he latched onto her, letting out a thundering animal growl. She thought he would attack her neck with sharp teeth until her head detached from her shoulders, but he stopped.

He stopped, for one reason or other, his hot breath on her skin. She needed to choose her words carefully, for he seemed to be resisting the urge to snap her neck. She could feel his rage radiating from him in waves that drove the cold off her body; she felt the prey of a bloodthirsty beast. Even the animals in the stables could feel it, and they cowered and cried out softly again as they sensed his murderous wrath. Her heart raced uncontrollably, and Aiwyn swallowed hard.

"This... this is not your style," she began. "I know you. So vain, so full of yourself," she felt his hands tightening around her wrists. "Slipping through the window in the middle of the night? That's not like you. You have dramatic flair... you'd need to make a big deal out of this. Like by shapeshifting in the middle of a city. Something happened. Something changed you."

The man remained silent for a moment. His presence disturbed the silence of the stables, as the horse and even the fierce direwolf felt restless before him. Afraid, even. Aiwyn's body still shivered, tense, still, trying not to move an inch. The wind kept on howling outside, unaware of their argument.

"You knew this would happen," he finally said. "You knew your spell wouldn't be enough to keep me chained for long, and yet you acted like it would. Why?"

Aiwyn hesitated before answering. The way he could switch from what it felt like an irrational, hungry beast and a reasonably sane man left her apprehensive. To say the least.

"You kept my mind busy," she said. "Worrying about you meant I didn't have to worry about other things."

"Other things? Like your fiancé?" he stepped back to look at her and snorted at the surprised face she made. "Oh, for fucks sake, don't give me that look. Did you think I didn't know? You tremble at the idea of finding and facing him now, at the Sunwell Plateau."

There was something in his voice that she never heard before, and that she would certainly never expect from him. She knew that variation in tone too well to let it go unnoticed. And that, more than anything that could come from him, surprised her.

"You care," she finally said in disbelief. That idea was so wild, so strange to her ears she didn't seem to believe it herself. "You're jealous."

One of his hands found her neck again, and even if there was hatred and threat to that gesture, there was nearly no strength to that squeeze - no real will of inflicting pain.

"I'm not as foolish as you mortals," he answered, yet she thought he was wishing to believe more than wishing to make her believe.

"Really? Then why did you stay so long?"

"You may call it a whim," he answered. "You're rather amusing... for a mortal."

Still she felt there was something odd about the way he hesitated to hurt her, or the way he delayed his departure. But despite that, he'd crossed a line that night - he actually broke the spell she had on him - and they couldn't go back to their former status quo.

"You've lied better before," she said. "You were listening, is that it? Truly listening. You know every single word I said is true. You mock mortals so much... Yet you are watching, first hand, as mortals stand together before the Burning Legion. And succeeding so far."

His laugh felt like a roar, louder than the howling wind. Suddenly she was afraid that he would awake someone inside the inn, when his hands - and hers - were covered in blood. Some part of her wanted to address that problem - did he kill someone? Why? - but now didn't seem the right time for that.

"The Burning Legion will fail," he said with a grin. "But the Old Gods are part of Azeroth, and will never be gone. Not when something as ancient and powerful as the Black Dragonflight is by their side."

"Yet I know a mere mortal who defeated a black dragon and put a leash on his neck," she teased him. "I know that you're starting to realize you're nothing more than a puppet. Do you think you will be spared when the Hour of the Twilight finally come? Do you think you will be rewarded? What are the Old Gods whispering in your head? What rewards are them promising you? Do they want me dead? Go ahead then - prove me wrong."

It might have seemed an insane leap of faith to trust him, to toy with issues as distrustful as his sanity or pride and vanity. But her insight on these matters would help her then and after, when she would realize that was a big lesson to be learned: Insanity must never be ignored, but acknowledged. Used, manipulated.

His hand remained on her neck, and apart from a soft squeeze, there was no real intent there. The elf could almost picture what was going on inside his head, the words he was trying to put in line to overthrow her reasoning. Yet he'd seen enough to doubt his own reasons, and whether they were truly his. Now was the time for her to act and add noise to his head.

"You will never go back to your former blessed state of ignorance, Laniryon. You've seen what will happen should the Hour of the Twilight come, and there is nothing left of the world for you to rule but its ashes," she kept on talking before he could answer. She surprised him a bit more by leaning in to whisper in his ear, and he did nothing to stop her. "What is it that your own voice is telling you right now? What's the feeling in your gut? If you think the voices in your head are not trustworthy, add mine to them so you can doubt them, argue with them. And then come to me, when you're ready."

With his mind so busy trying to take a good grip of her words, he also let his guard down completely. When he realized she was gathering power to shape a spell, it was already too late. Her power radiated out from her in a wave that pushed him away; a simple and unrefined use of magic that almost couldn't be considered a spell, but that was still effective. Laniryon was pushed away and hit a wooden pillar; the pillar cracked and the horses finally started to frantically freak out while the wolf howled at the man, but the man looked unharmed and even took his hand to the hilt of the sword, before realizing Aiwyn was already gone.

The innkeeper almost caught her on his way to the stables, fearing a thug or thief, since he had a club in his hands. Horses neighing could be ignored throughout the night, but not everything else. The entire inn would be up in no time, so she had to be quick. She hastily made her way back to her room, already hearing shuffling behind a few doors, where some patrons were waking up due to the night's agitation. Luckily her apprentice, the human boy Nathan, was already standing before the door of her room, his brain trying to communicate with his sleepy self about the reasons to be there. Explosions were so commonplace around his Master that the connection of the noises at the stables being of her doing was spontaneous.

"Nathan, we're leaving. Now," she said, and his eyes widened at the command. He wasn't given time to ponder or even question, when her urgency was strengthened by a roar as loud as a thunder, shaking the inn's wooden walls and make her elven ears ring. Following that, she heard the flapping of gigantic, leathery wings. Nathan understood immediately and ran to his room to gather their stuff.

The little village was shaken by the sudden appearance of the dragon, more felt than seen. His scales merged with the dark night sky; the wind his wings created as he took flight only added to the storm to come. And no one, not even the bravest of heroes, would be foolish enough to follow him through storm clouds filled with lightning.

Aiwyn didn't like to leave the place like that, sneaking out the back door while the sight of the dragon took the night entirely. It made her feel she was guilty, but she had no choice. Laniryon left too many questions (and a dead body) behind for it to be safe to stay - she couldn't even start to investigate his reasons before being questioned for the blood in her hands, both metaphorically and literally.

And even as she turned to face the storm, far from the inn and into the night, cold and wet to the core of her bones, she had a satisfied smirk playing across her lips that left her apprentice dumbfounded. Despite the seemingly catastrophic events that played during the last hours, she knew she'd shaken his mind's foundations.

She'd seen it before: the hesitation, that look on his face that betrayed him and showed the surface of the tempest that was raging inside his head. There was no other reason he would be there, arguing with her instead of simply running. He also had doubts.


End file.
